Shades Between Hero and Villain
by TreesWhisperTruthsAndLies
Summary: An AU where Nadine rescues Rafe from The Fancy after the final battle with the Drakes, leading to strange consequences and progressions. Spoilers for UC4 and LL.
1. Chapter 1

Nadine Ross knew Rafe Adler was _similar_ than the kind of men she dealt with in the past, but not entirely the same. When most had common sense of duck out and collect what gains they could when all seemed lost, Rafe was on a suicide mission now in the face of inevitable death. He might look the same on the outside, but he was simply cut from a different cloth. She knew it when the first wisps of smoke curled out of The Fancy's bow before full thick billowing streamers that poured into the cave's sheltering cathedral stone ceiling. She knew it when she saw him between the Drake brothers in the treasure hold, staring them down with his Colt and near-delirious with being surrounded in the wealth he spent his adult life searching for. He looked utterly mad, half his usually meticulously-kempt face coated with his own blood, hair askew, and nearly foaming at the mouth as he spat orders. Nadine thought, by some fucking miracle, the jarring reality of being locked in a burning ship unarmed would snap Rafe out of it. She knew if the Drakes were still alive, he had a good chance of getting out alive himself, if he had the sense to cooperate. A mighty-big 'if'. Rafe might have worked with the Drakes in the past, but much has changed in those fifteen years. Adler's own sanity might be called into question if it already was not on shaky ground.

Only one of her men survived that long and seemingly has not shaken in his loyalty, Knot he called himself. Orca was blasted on the ship after foolishly following Rafe, wounded but escaping. Now she stood on their inflatable motorized boat, a pair of binoculars to her squinting eyes as he desperately tried to determine a change. There was a bone-rattling explosion and a hole blew into the side of the hull of The Fancy, water pouring in. Moments later, both Drakes were seen almost bobbing away as they swam to safety. No Rafe.

 _Fuck._

Going to The Fancy now might mean certain death, but leaving that rich American trust fund brat to die did not sit well on her conscience. " _Stupid_ , stupid, **stupid** ," she hissed under her breath, hopping to the motor and gunning it directly to the burning, sinking ship. Knot's first hints of uneasiness began to show, actually going to vocalize out loud his questions on their motives.

"Uh, ma'am?" Knot called out hesitantly over the roar of the motor and the sound of chaos as the cave began to show signs of instability. "He's good as dead."

"Drake would not kill him," she growled out stubbornly, one stern glare was all it took to keep her last soldier quiet. "He's alive." _For now._

Getting onto the ship was relatively simple, the door she left blocked as partially giving away. Another shove, and the men she purposely trapped could have escaped. But would men ever take the simple way out? No. Would Rafe? Probably not. The treasure hold was almost how she left it, only now standing in two feet of water with a hole in the hull of the ship.

"Rafe?!" Nadine shouted out, not seeing his body in immediate view and feeling a flush of panic. What if he _did_ get out? Is she just ensuring her own foolish death? She was debating turning around when she saw it. A bundle of fallen loot and treasure, most of it solid gold, the rope sack mostly burst upon impact with the floor. There was a vague halo of blood in the water around it.

" _Fuck_ … Rafe, hold on!" Nadine snarled out, wading through the water and hauling arm-loads of loose coins and heavy trinkets off the bundle. It was hard to tell there was anyone underneath it at all until her fingers grazed wet cloth and skin. Her hand came away partially bloody, the sea water leeching it from her palms. He was drowning, that was certain. If he could even get a breath in from being crushed. Her arms burning from the strain and effort and panic, clawing almost mindlessly as more water flooded in, there was a spark of triumph when she finally hauled his upper body up out of the seafoam and blood and gold. There was no time to check him over yet. They needed to get **out**.

It was hard to ignore the grinding sensation of broken, fractured bones or the unnatural hanging crook of his lifeless arms, but another two harsh pulls freed Rafe Adler's limp, unresponsive body out of the wealth that he sought so dearly. As small as he might appear compared to other men, he was a solid dead weight in her arms. Hauling him out from under the arms, she finally had to paddle out to the boat where Knot restlessly waited with the motor at ready, hoping Rafe's head remained above water but not wasting much time to look. If she delayed, they were all dead. Knot's firm grasp helped heft her into the boat, but it took their combined effort to drag Rafe out, there was no consciousness at all. Laying him out on the floor of the boat, Knot already at the motor, Nadine sat down finally, trembling with the exertion.

As the boat roared and skimmed through the water, the main entrance mostly collapsed but the back channels still intact for their escape into the fresh air outside, Nadine felt her heart nearly stop when the sun struck Rafe Adler's motionless body.

The usually unflappable and disciplined Rafe Adler was nearly unrecognizable. The sea water had washed much of the blood from his wounds but only temporarily, much of it was already springing back to the surface of multiple, immeasurable injuries. His once aloof face was almost a mask of blood, eyes swollen from the impact of the weight crushing down. His finely-muscled and trim body was broken, hideously so. Both arms were terribly fractured, the bend on both forearms uncanny and disturbing. His legs fared better, but not by much as they were still undoubtedly broken. There was a large slit across his abdomen, cut through the dark cotton of his shirt. Nadine almost felt a cynical smile curl her lip, _almost_. A sword fight. Only Rafe would choose to be that dramatic. He was cut up bad from the spar, clearly not as skilled as he believed himself at fencing. Some of the treasure that fell on him was sharp, some of it heavy and blunt. Nadine was no doctor, but she knew the real injuries were internal. The worst of the damage cannot be easily seen from the surface. But Rafe's battered, broken chest was not moving. He was not breathing.

" _Shit_ ," Nadine whispered, already feeling for a pulse at his bruised throat. It was there, weak, ebbing to fade. Pumping at his chest made her gruesomely aware of the fractured ribs grinding under the pressure, but this was far more important. The first two lung-blasts of air expelled into him brought nothing, only a stab of dread in Nadine's heart. "Shit, Rafe, don't do **this**. Come on. Breathe. You stupid American bastard, just breathe…"

Maybe for the sake of response or just needing the coaxing, Rafe rattled in a soft, spluttering breath before he coughed spasmodically, sea-foam and water and blood expelling with each writhing choke. As horrible as it was instead of calm breathing, it was still appreciated. Nadine slumped back against the wall of the boat as he skimmed over waves, to an evacuation point already set up for their escape.

"Rafe, you thick rich bastard," Nadine panted softly, uncaring if he was unconscious and unable to dignify a word back. "You almost ended up as the man killed by Avery's treasure."

* * *

If there was ever a man Rafe Adler had tried to impress, aspire to be, idolize, and consistently and frustratingly fail in the task, it was Magnus Adler, his father and patriarch of the Adler fortune. Magnus was a force of nature himself, a man to be both feared and respected, a man that demanded loyalty in money and blood. Rafe's relationship with his father was always murky at best despite his efforts to change that. He loved his father. What kid did not? But try as he might, his father never gave him a hint of approval. All his blood, sweat and tears only amounted to 'why is that all you can achieve', 'why not better', 'you need to improve'. When his achievements in physical prowess were simply discarded, he tried for bigger, better goals. There was one thing his father seemed to adore, it was history and relics of the past, treasure one might call it. Avery's treasure, the holy grail of wealth, was the pinnacle of treasure-hunts.

Rafe's dislike for Nathan Drake was not a sudden occurrence. Like an illness or an infection, it sets in gradually like a fever. One day, after being scolded on missing the Olympic qualifiers in swimming and being beaten by a man only freakishly propelling himself through the pool like a _fucking_ dolphin, Rafe overheard his father almost relishing the achievements of someone else. How bizarre, that a man that achieved everything he attained for himself and got it, would congratulate someone else or gossip about those achievements among friends? Not Magnus Adler. But lo and behold, he was.

"The lost city of El Dorado. Not a city at all, but a single sarcophagus. Discovered by a kid my son's age. Drake, they say he calls himself. A descendent of Francis Drake himself, supposedly."

Rafe had worked with Nathan in the past, trying to find Avery's treasure with his brother Samuel. His brother was definitely the easier to talk to among the pair, the youngest reminded him too much of himself, but a much poorer, weaker-bred version perhaps. But Samuel's supposed death proved too much for Nathan to cope. They went in their own directions from that point, but apparently Drake was keeping busy. As Rafe languished for years, struggling to find even clues about the treasure his father thirsted for since his youth, Drake was basically falling into long-lost cities and discoveries. Of all the sheer fucking _luck_. It happened again, a few years later, his father even more excited over a street-kid's achievements rather his own son's efforts to appease him.

"Imagine _that_. Marco Polo's lost fleet unveils the path to the lost city of Shambhala and the Tree of Life itself. All the while, dogging his turned allies and a warlord. The balls on that boy. Done more than most have in their _lives_."

The last jab was pointedly in his direction, but Rafe kept his cool, aloof expression neutral. Dealing with his father's verbal abuses was hardly new, since he got strong enough to defend himself from physical blows, words were all the weapons he truly had. And he made them all count. Despite Rafe's ravenous dealings in learning the business, or primarily, maintaining a viable business to act as a front for illegal black-market trade that made them their fortune, none of it was to his father's satisfaction. The screw-up in Panama was seen as a loss of capital. All that bribery in the end was wasted, considering Rafe ended up murdering the warden out of a moment of blind rage. Not only did one of the Drakes disappear out of action for 13 years due to his own indiscretions, but his father lost his hope in Avery's treasure with that failure. It weighed on him heavily. The next two to three years were avidly studying his father's efforts to teach him the business. But the more he tried, the more his father was disgruntled with his lack of visible talents or knacks for this sort of employment.

The last Nathan Drake discovery was enough for Rafe to finally lose his cool. But considering the stressors at the time, he could hardly discredit himself. His mother was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer weeks before. She was in hospice care now, unable to recognize him as the disease consumed what used to be her every day. His father's foul temper was coming to a head, her illness was weighing on him. But he overheard the conversation outside his father's office, most likely on the phone to one of his business partners.

"You don't say? Nathan Drake at it again? You know, I heard there was some strange suited types sniffing around our circles for him a while back. Something about the Francis Drake ring he carried. A key? To the Atlantis of the Sands? What is to be found there? _Fascinating_. Perhaps it is best it fell into the earth. Imagine **that**. That Drake boy is truly incredible. Any man would be proud to be his father."

Balling his fists tight enough for the manicured nails to bite into his palms, he had to chew down on his tongue to stop from screaming. Try as he might to win his father's graces, it never _came_. They were only granted to other men his age that done nothing for Magnus Adler, especially when Drake himself did not make these discoveries for status, or greed, or renown, or simply approval. He done it because he could. He done it, came back with nothing to show for it, and was still treated leagues better. It was when Rafe tasted blood when he forced himself to go outside the mansion to the hillside and howl to his heart's content. To scream, rage, curse, even bellowing wordlessly, just to get the anger out. His mother died that night. The funeral was a blur. He hardly remembered it, it was a fog of grief and services.

It was coming back briefly from his clashing with the Drakes in Madagascar that Rafe was cornered by his father, his fast and loose spending of the family wealth was becoming too much to ignore even though his father technically retired from his position as CEO. He was close enough to the treasure to taste it now, Magnus was not stupid enough to ignore this. It was the closest they have ever been to Avery's wealth. Rafe was rummaging through his pack and ensuring he was ready to leave when his father stepped out from behind the door, surely waiting for him. Magnus was tall even in his sixties, almost six feet and Rafe still felt so small compared to him. He inherited his mother's stature and colouring. His father's thick blonde hair had greyed, slicked back, ice-blue eyes boring into his own that contained both parents' colours. His father's blue, his mother's brown. The man rarely smiled. Rafe never earned one, just the deep scowls like he saw now.

"This better be the last time," his father nearly growled, a warning tone of itself. "You have already spent through your inheritance. After this, you're cut off."

"Cut _off_?" Rafe repeated, incredulous and disbelieving. "I'm your only heir. Your only child."

"Imagine if I had two," Magnus snapped irritably. "I would be as poor as the rest, the rate of spending from you alone is enough. This is it. No more."

 _Fucking impossible. This old man has gone senile._ "I'm your fucking CEO, I'm running it—"

A surprisingly strong, firm hand collided open-palmed across his cheek before he could react, it was lightning fast with a sound like a thunder clap in the silence. He barely had time to cup his stinging face before his father already began to hiss venomous words into his personal bubble, hot breathing reeking of scotch wafting into his nostrils enough to make him feel sick. "Watch your language, you are better than the scum you associate with. You are **nothing** without my say-so. I made you CEO. I can just as easily unmake that decision. I can see you won't back down. _Good_. Maybe after all these years, you decided to be a man and grow a pair. Stop getting others to do your dirty work. If you don't have the guts to do it yourself, then you have no business issuing the order. But you walk out those doors after that treasure, you better come back with it, or don't bother coming back at all."

Cheek stinging, Rafe forbid any tears to gather, he refused to dignify _anymore_ _damn_ tears for this man. He shed much too many over the hellish existence that became his life as Magnus Adler's son. But all the while he heard the words, it was impossible to swallow. He spent a lifetime being groomed for this fucking job. And now, he was out? Just like that? "Dad, come _on_ —"

Another strike, this one Rafe was able to flinch away from and it only cuffed the side of his head in a glancing blow, just enough to daze. He was drinking again. Magnus stopped drinking when Rafe was young, when his mother Dolores begged his father to stop when the physical abuse on their son was too much for her to bear. He did, for ten years. The death of his mother was a blow to them both, causing fractures to both their personalities. Magnus took to drinking again. It was the first time that night being struck in over a decade, one that Rafe noticed was triggered by this discussion of the treasure they both wanted for different reasons.

"You will address me as Father, I thought I made that clear?" Magnus snapped agitatedly. "Understand me, Rafael? You walk out those doors, you are done if you don't secure Avery's treasure. You over-spent your limits. You took advantage of my generosity time and time again. I had hopes you can run our company, but all you've done was run it into the ground. This is your final chance."

The words cut deep. If there was one thing Rafe depended on, it was the fact he was Magnus' son and his blood relations might keep him unscathed by the end of his father's life and free to indulge in the wealth he was raised in. But his father never bluffed. He meant every word he said, they might as well be written in stone. Gaze tilted downwards at knowing his father might misinterpret anything else but submission, Rafe shouldered his pack. He liked to travel light, it ensured less hassle. Face still burning, he let his hand drop from his cheek.

"So this is it, then. Treasure, or adios," Rafe murmured tonelessly. "And if I choose to stay?"

The scowl on his father's face became a cruel, mocking sneer. "Then you were a bigger failure than I thought," Magnus almost huffed. "You stay, it only proves you are spineless. You can't earn greatness from behind a desk, boy."

The building rage only steeled his decision. **Fuck** his father. He was going to get the treasure, alright. He was going to keep it for his own damn self, none of this family legacy bullshit. "Then I guess this is goodbye, Father." Any sarcasm, snippy tone, anything at all might earn him another beating but he honestly could not control how betrayed he felt. "See you on the other side of this."

As he turned to walk away, he could hear his father almost hissing after him. The final words were all he needed to remember about his father. Nothing else mattered, a sum of experiences bore nothing on the weight of the last words almost shouted at his back.

"If your mother could see you now. Maybe God was kind to kill her before she saw you ruin us. Earn the name Adler, boy. Or start looking for a new one."

* * *

The last conscious memory Rafe Adler had on The Fancy was full of jumbled confusion and madness, but the strongest sense to pinpoint was the smell of smoke. It came with a sense of triumph, of accomplishment. He was inches from finally killing the persistent pain in his ass for fifteen fucking years, Nathan goddamn Drake himself. The treasure was so close, he could reach out and lovingly caress the golden doubloons that piled in heaps around them. The heat from the fire surrounding them was making his head foggy, it was hard to concentrate on anything else but the man sprawled beneath him. Sam's voice. A split-second of regret, and that was it. Rafe could not remember anything else. Just black.

If Rafe could go back and change it, he could. It was always easy to say if given a second chance to repeat the encounter, he would have listened to Nathan and worked together to escape. The fact was, he knew where the treasure was located. He saw it. It would not take much to convince his father to throw more funds to excavate the collapsed cave, divers to haul up the treasure. But there was no point crying over spilt blood. What was done is done. There was no going back.

There were only brief flickers of consciousness, small clips before he finally was able to have full, intact episodes of memory. The first one was the sensation of being cold and wet with wind whistling across him, stirring his eyelashes enough to want to open them. _The hell? Is this the afterlife? I can't breathe. Fuck, it hurts to fucking breathe. If this is Hell, why is it so cold?_ Cracking open his eyelids hesitantly, nervous by what sight could await him, Rafe only saw the endless blue sky. There were scant puffs of clouds dispersed over the azure expanse. There was a rumbling beneath it all, a slight rattling underneath him that jarred his whole body enough to ache. One particular nasty bump lurched him upwards, eliciting a pained, exhausted groan. _Please, cut it out. This hurts enough without you bouncing me on a fucking trampoline._ Someone was calling his name at his side but it was fogged, distant. He wondered how bad the damage to his head was, his hearing made everything muffled and an indescribable hum. Rafe was afraid to move. Breathing was agonizing, but he hardly had a choice in that. What could he do, stop breathing? Palm trees skimmed by. He was moving. Hands were on his face, tilting his head faintly before Nadine's face came into a blurry focus. "Rafe? Can you hear me?" she was shouting, but it sounded like she was miles away. A sluggish blink was all he could do. His strength was drained out of him, he could not move. It was impossible to gauge his faculties right now. Nothing was responding, too deeply overwhelmed by excruciating agony. There was an abrupt turn that made the mild bumps into jarring, crashing turbulence. That was all he could gather from that recollection, it cut off after a final, throat-wrenching scream as his whole-body ache shot into oblivion, but only after the worst pain Rafe felt in his entire life. _This is it. I'm dead. All that potential, the wealth, the fucking opportunity, wasted._

The next brief moment of consciousness was a steady, hard vibration that rattled deep into his core, but oddly enough, no pain. Just a bizarre numbness. Just when he thought he was dead, opening his eyes brought him only the steel ceiling and nylon mesh, one of Nadine's evacuation helicopters by the familiarity of the multitude of straps dangling down. _No fucking way. I pulled through. I could hardly breathe, but it doesn't hurt anymore. That could be a good thing, or a really,_ _really_ _bad thing. I hope it's the former. I might be a scoundrel, but if there is a God up there, please let me live through this. I never cared for morals, they just bind men into restrictions. But I swear, I will reconsider if I live._ He could not move his head. It took him a moment to realize he was on a back-board in a stretcher, someone had taken the time to secure his head in restraints and a head brace to minimize possible spinal injuries. His broken, ruined arms were folded to his chest and wrapped in layers of gauze, bound together to keep stabilized. Nadine does not just have these serious medical supplies just laying around. This was a medic's doing, possibly paramedics. The drip of saline hanging above him only confirmed his suspicions. Someone loomed over him abruptly, his eyes barely had time to focus before they jerked away for a few seconds and returning with another. Nadine. He could recognize that lush mane anywhere. And one of her men, the one that was reluctant in submitting to his cause, Knot. They did not try speaking to him. It would be almost impossible to be heard over the helicopter's roar. _So if these two are here, I might got a chance. Might. Something's not good. I… can't feel my legs. My arms, barely. I'm hoping this is temporary. Just my fucking luck._ An unfamiliar face came into view with the others, most likely a paramedic. There was a quick injection into his IV line and he did not remember anything else. That was a mercy of itself.

After that, no more flickers of clips, no tiny glimmers of consciousness. It could have been an hour, it could have been weeks. All time is relative when a body is struggling to survive near-impossible odds and recover. The first sensation, he was not sure when he fully became aware of it as it set in gradually, was a dire, cloying thirst that parched his throat and felt like his tongue was cracking. Along with it, a splitting headache that felt his skull was rupturing at the seams. It throbbed in tune with a soft rhythmic beeping, a mechanical drone attuned to his pulse. Try as he might, Rafe could not physically move. Something was binding his body in an uncomfortable position. His back hurt, the mattress felt like it was a bed of nails. _Fuck. This is bad. This is more than waking up in the barracks on a cot with a headache. I'm in serious shit here. Fuck, now_ _what_ _? Nadine? Is she still here?_ He tried to physically speak out loud too, but a weak, soft groan was all he could work out of his vocal cords. No one answered him. He could be alone.

 _Fuck, now_ _ **what**_ _? Is anyone listening? Is anyone here? What kind of shit hospital is this?_ His eyelids felt like they were shutters of lead, but forcing them open took significant strength and effort on his behalf. The lights were thankfully dimmed, but Rafe was clueless on why, his bed was the only one in the room and he was out cold moments before. The room was small, but just beyond his bed was a well-lit corridor through a glass wall, pleated curtains stopping much of the light from blinding him. There was bustling in the hall outside, doctors, nurses, stretchers, beds, wheelchairs. But yet, it was so quiet in the room. It might as well have been a world away instead of on the other side of a layer of glass.

Rafe was lucky he did not have to move his head to scan the room, it was small enough that simply shifting his eyes was enough. Any attempts to move at all, he found he was immobile and essentially restrained. There was what felt to be a crown around his skull, forbidding his neck to twist with steel bars to stabilize. Both arms were suspended to stretch above his head but were encased in plaster, leaving only bruised fingers to wiggle as his upper limbs were supported by a steel frame above his bed by cotton slings. Everything else was hidden under baby-blue blankets and starchy hospital sheets. But efforts to wiggle his toes was met with nothing. In fact, he could not feel his toes. He could not feel anything under his waist. It was a dawning dread Rafe Adler had never felt in his entire life, something that shook him physically to the core. He felt sick. He would have thrown up if he had the energy.

 _Oh. Oh no. Oh, fuck, please, no. No, no, no, no. NO! This can't be happening. This is a dream. A fucking nightmare. Rafe, wake up. Come on, you asshole, do it! Please! Just wake up, I don't care if I'm back at home or not, hell, let it be prison in Panama again. Anything, just let me have my fucking legs._ There was no mistaking that his legs were physically there. He could see them as solid unmoving lumps under the bedding. That was the problem. No matter how hard he was struggling to kick, nothing was responding. He could not feel anything below his waist at all, everything else was sore and aching from the top of his head that royally throbbed to his mid-spine that was a knot of agony against the mattress. The anxiety was building. The dread he felt earlier magnified into utter panic. Being unable to move was terrifying. Rafe always was about control, it was one of the few things he could depend on. There was nothing as horrible as this for someone that thrived on control. His heart was hammering in his chest, his breathing heightening to a soft pant. The monitor at his bedside was speeding up to his pulse, the rhythm ramping up. All the while, his efforts to scream and rage failed, he could barely grunt at all now, his throat was cramping closed with the frustrated, angry sobs building. It had been a while since he wept. Since his mother's death. The funeral he spent dry-eyed but in a daze. _Please. Please let this not be real. I'd rather have died on that fucking ship._

Struggling to thrash his body pointlessly other than to simply rage, Rafe heard the door abruptly open and the barrier of silence was broken, the noisy corridor outside was loud and clear for a few seconds however long it took for his visitor to come in. His eyes were so tightly closed, he did not care who it was. No visitor could make this right. Nothing could change this.

"Mr. Adler?" a soft voice called out, disrupting his self-pitying inner-monologue. Eyes burning but furiously opening them, he found himself glaring at a middle-aged male nurse in scrubs. There was a look of concern there, but Rafe was so utterly enraged and scared, he honestly did not give two fucks if it was the damn Pope. "Mr. Adler, you've been very hurt," the nurse stated gently, as if he did not know what had just occurred to get him there in that position. There was a weak accent, South African. "There was an accident, I was told. You've been in a medically induced coma for a week and a half now. There was swelling on your brain, it was not certain if there would be lasting damage if you would live at all. You almost died. Are you in pain?"

 _Holy shit, how many years of medical school did it take to figure that out, genius? Christ, if I could move, I'd kick your ass out the fucking door._ Rafe grimaced in every foul bit of hateful emotion that surged through him, the very fury which often could have been his weakness. Before The Fancy, Rafe was not against smacking a bitch or two if his temper got a hold of him. Hell, he killed people that pissed him off too severely, shallow graves if they were dignified a burial at all. But no amount of willpower and hate and loathing could make his legs move. Or his arms. Or even his fucking head. He could not even speak. His throat refused to cooperate. His tongue felt too thick to shape a word. The only meagre sound he could vocalize was a pathetic groan, one that made him more agitated. _Fuck! I can't even talk?! Is this what my life is now? I want out. I'm fucking opting out. Drake ended me, just finish it._

The wince of sympathy creased the older nurse's features, already ducking out briefly before returning mere seconds later with a loaded syringe at last. Rafe could only watch as it was injected into his IV line, followed by a pleasant blooming warmth and numbness. The hysteria calmed down considerably. It was no mystery on what was in the needle, morphine most likely. Rafe might have dabbled in recreational drugs in the past, this one was something he avoided after seeing what it turned the habitual users into. It did not stop himself from actually relaxing despite his anxieties. It was why junkies kept using, to go numb. The cramping of his throat relaxed. Despite his thirst, he could find it easier to speak, or at least attempt. The unknown nurse was still at his bedside, observing him silently, when Rafe decided he had to know. He needed to know. "H-…h-how…. B-bad?" came a weak whisper, his voice hoarse and rough as sandpaper.

"You had to be air-lifted directly here to the major hospitals in the city, they said this happened in Madagascar? You were near death, Mr. Adler. It appeared as if you were in a high-speed car-accident. The level of crushing injuries was barely survivable. Mild skull fracture, some broken facial bones, both femurs snapped, both arms we were barely able to save but you should be able to use them eventually. Many ribs were fractured, as well as the spine just at your lower lumbar. You needed three blood transfusions before surgery alone. I'm sorry, Mr. Adler. The damage was catastrophic. You will have no likely chance of walking again."

There it was. The statement he was waiting for and dreading at the same time, yet the anticipation was worse. The final truth was so plain, so insensitively explained, it was like being physically stabbed while being helpless to move from its path. Hot tears finally slipped free from his eyes, burning at the puffy bruises and healing wounds along his face. If he had movement, he would be more animated in his dismay and distress. He chewed on his bottom lip hard, forbidding a sob to escape. Rafe refused to let it happen. But he was so very deeply shaken by his body's condition. He basically took his physique and health, his very strength and athletic skill all for granted. Having it taken from him was a level of depression and hopelessness he never thought capable of experiencing himself. _This is it. My life is fucking over. I'm a cripple. I'm not even a goddamn rich cripple. I'm fucking poor as the rest of these people. I'm not an Adler. I'm just Rafe now. Father will never take me back. Never._

"Kill m-me…" Rafe hissed wearily, hoping this nurse was one of the rare ghoulish sort that might take mercy killings as a hobby. There had to be at least someone in the hospital willing to grant him that, at least. "F-fucking… k-kill me… Do it."

That little flicker of hope extinguished fast, the look that washed over the nurse's compassion was something he come to know from the doctor's resigned yet rehearsed lectures about his own mother's condition. The cool, meticulous but relentless medical provider dead-pan stare came on before he could get another word out. They heard it all before. All the begging, pleading, the sad, ugly truths of hospitals and caring for the sick and injured and dying. The nurse was already putting up that wall, that emotional barrier. "Mr. Adler, you are expressing troubling matters. If you have further suicidal thoughts or ideations, measures will be taken. You will be okay, sir. Your doctor will be in shortly."

And just like that, the nurse retreated, the unspoken contract gone too far. Rafe felt his hope die out, closing his eyes tightly again with a weak, tiny hiccup of grief working its way out of him. _Fuck. This is so much worse than death. Nadine, why did you drag me out? Why? Fuck! What am I going to do? I won't be able to afford these fucking medical bills. My life is over._


	2. Chapter 2

If Rafe had a clue his desperate, intoxicated request would lead to an extended suicide watch, he would have been silent. It led to a nurse checking in on him every fifteen minutes, although he was not sure how he could kill himself being unable to move. It was a couple days before he saw someone he recognized. It was the least likely of faces he expected to visit, his actions had not made him too popular and now his lack of funds dispersed what little loyalty he was able to collect. He woke up one countless nap later to find he was no longer alone in his solitary hell.

"They told me you threatened to **kill** yourself," Nadine Ross inquired softly, the tone rather calm and low, unlike her usual fire at times. She was sitting cross-legged in a chair to his left, one foot bobbing in the air on occasion. "That's extreme, Adler, even for you."

 _Fuck off, Nadine. You should have left me to die._ Rafe's hatred and venom were exhausting to hold tight to, especially when his body was so damaged and haggard. He was able to speak clearer now, his voice still hoarse but otherwise one of the few faculties left intact. He supposed he was lucky for that much. To become a vegetable or mute would have been a hell within hell. Swallowing past his stubborn desire to remain quiet and cut her out, he was a tiny bit relieved someone still remembered him.

"To clarify, I asked the _nurse_ to kill me," Rafe grumbled faintly, speaking loudly still hurt his throat. He could not wait to reach for his own damn glass of water yet. "Hey, thought I'd ask… Look at me. Not like I have many options from here."

The hard glare Nadine often wore most neutrally softened, almost wincing if she did not forbid herself to do so. She was not one to display nor offer pity. "You still have your father. Your wealth. All is not lost, Rafe."

 _That's right. I never did tell you._ Rafe chuckled, but it was bitter even to his own ears. He would have shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, do something more animated but he was literally frozen in the medical contraptions and plaster. The first few days were frustrating and humiliating. Now, he was just defeated in his paralysis. "Oh, it's lost, alright… My father is a ruthless piece of shit that gave me an ultimatum before I left for Madagascar. Nadine, I apparently overspent what he thought it would take to find Avery's stash. My inheritance is gone. He basically disowned me if I didn't come back with all of Avery's treasure. I. Have. Nothing. I can't pay these fucking medical bills. I can't pay for a damn cup of coffee from the cafeteria down the hall, no doubt. It was all or nothing. Fucking all or nothing." Rafe could not bear to look at her now. He could only stare straight ahead, it was too much strain to keep his eyes to the extreme left to watch her.

"You never mentioned **any** of this before," Nadine almost snapped. The tone akin to razors settled into her pitch. "Rafe, if you did not pay me up-front, you would have been in more trouble than you are now. You're lucky we were able to haul enough treasure back from what he found in the caves alone. Your bills are already covered, I've seen to that personally with the wealth recovered. But, Rafe, I can't look after you. You don't have any family? None?"

"I don't need you to fucking babysit me," Rafe spat, a surge of anger catching him off-guard. "No, Nadine. No. My mother passed last year. I have no siblings, as far as I know, but I wouldn't put it past the old man… All my extended family is dead or are severed from before I was even born. No cousins. Nothing. I don't need you here to remind me of that. Fuck, why are you even here, Nadine? To gloat? You got your money and your bonus. I'm not your fucking problem anymore. Get out."

Rafe knew that he had as much luck forcing Nadine out as he did physically, which meant fuck-all before or after the accident as she would still have the upper-hand if he tried to take her on. The stubborn glare he saw in his peripheral vision was plain enough. Her tone softened despite it. "Rafe, do you need me to make a call to someone? Samuel, possibly?"

 _Oh, wouldn't that be fucking fun?! That's the last fucking person I want here._ Rafe Adler fumed silently, kneading at his lower lip with his teeth. Out of the Drake brothers, he did enjoy Sam's company the most. Hell, they were a lot more than acquaintances or partners in this mutual treasure hunt. He considered Sam a friend, or at least as close to a friend he ever got to experience and the longest standing one, at that. Most thieves and low-lives he come to associate with either died or retired, so there was no need for him to maintain ties. He thought Samuel Drake joined the ranks of deceased when they escaped Panama fifteen years prior. But upon bribing the guards and warden to release Sam a couple years ago, he come to know Samuel quite well. They were on occasion, when drinks were flowing and the night ran late, physically intimate with each other. Originally, it was to scratch an itch when he long neglected himself in this stressful, seemingly endless hunt. But he come to enjoy the rugged man's presence. Until Sam betrayed him by roping in his younger brother and their elderly friend Victor Sullivan. That indiscretion could not be easily forgiven, especially what the end result led to. _Fuck Samuel. Fuck the Drakes, fuck Avery, and fuck you, dad._

"The Drakes think I'm dead," Rafe stated blankly, his voice monotone. "Don't ruin that for them. That's the last fucking **person** I want here to pity me. Just stop trying to help, Nadine. Your job is done. Our contract is over. Walk away."

"Maybe for now, Rafe," Nadine sighed as she stood, wincing with a stretch. It made him wonder how long he was napping for. "For now. But by the sound of it, you're in for a lonely recovery. And unfortunately that stunt you pulled with most my men means I don't have Shoreline contracts rolling in anymore. I got time on my hands now, and looks like you have nothing but time. I'll see you in a week, Adler. Keep yourself alive until then."

* * *

Nadine Ross' appearances became expected and regular no matter how much he seethed and raged and harassed at her as she sat there. And most surprisingly, she took it week after week without any sign of snapping at him. And Rafe so badly wanted her to snap, he wanted someone to treat him like before this fiasco happened. Since the accident, he found everyone from the hospital staff to his only visitor walked on egg-shells no matter how cruelly he treated them. And it was pissing him off. It may have been a month since he was awake, but including the time spent unconscious in a coma while recovering, he was finally allowed out of bed. Not that it meant anything spectacular, it only meant being pushed around in a wheelchair. But after memorizing every inch of his tiny room, a hint of freedom might do him good. Or so Nadine insisted. But Rafe had no choice but to trust her in that. He felt his mental discipline waning with the seclusion every day, the inactivity, the lack of movement, the sheer helplessness of it all. He was going insane. Or at the very least, he was changing as he was hardly able to recognize himself through his own behaviour.

And with five long weeks spent awake in his hospital room with only Nadine Ross as a weekly visitor, the loneliness was jarring. Rafe was never one to spend long alone, this might be the longest stretch of time he had a bed to himself without sharing it with one of his many flings just for company's sake. Throughout his history, Rafe Adler took advantage of his social standing and status by accumulating one-night stands and fuck-buddies and girlfriends and boyfriends. Booty-calls, too, if one plan or another fell through. But in his insatiable hunt for Avery's treasure in the past fifteen years, much more so the last few years consuming his time, he was cutting his social ties to restrictive numbers. Paranoia, maybe? He simply never trusted most thieves or mercenaries. The isolation was a deep, painful contrast of its own. He never gotten any mail, phone calls, get well cards, nothing else other than Nadine's faithful appearances. And he still had no clue why she was bothering at all. Guilt? Pity? Regardless, Rafe found his temper was shorter and shorter.

Sitting stiffly in the manual hospital-provided wheelchair, Rafe purposely avoided all curious stares and glances in his direction. And he was getting many. The steady blast of the air conditioning chilled him to the core, so he requested a blanket draped over his shoulders as well as a separate one covering his inert, useless legs. It was a troubling reality, despite it being five weeks after waking up in a hospital bed. But underneath, he knew how bad it looked. Being able to finally move his head freely and neck able to bend, he dared a couple glances over his broken body in private when his fingers were able to pluck the covers off regardless of the unwieldy, clumsy casts encasing both forearms. His legs were shockingly thin, much more so than he ever could remember himself being other than as a child. The muscles of his once finely-tuned, athletically-toned body were wasting away. His pass-time and previous career as a swimmer had been able to build his shorter-statured form with powerful yet trim frame. But the most ghastly part of it was the sutures and stitches that criss-crossed over him. Rafe hated scars, the few he had before were very small and well-concealed. These were impossible to hide. The huge rip across his abdomen was closed and healing but the slit formed a deep indentation on his otherwise smooth belly. The sword-fencing with rusty blades were perhaps not the wisest idea. He nearly died from an infection during his coma, apparently. Hence, the added restraints and braces, as he was convulsing uncontrollably before he recovered. Or, at least everything from the waist up was. His legs were still dead. And worse, so was his apparent sex life. _Fuck. My dick might still work, but I can't feel a damn thing. Jesus. Maybe this is my punishment. If God is real, there's plenty to be mad at me about._ He still did not see the worst of the damage. His back was no doubt marred by the surgery to attempt to repair the severing of his spine. His arms were still hidden under the bandages and plaster. And the worst thing yet, Rafe had yet to find the courage to look in a mirror. He used to be fucking drop-dead handsome. That might have changed.

"Some fresh air will do you good," Nadine insisted strongly despite his groans of complaints, but he really had no chance to change her decision once it was made. All he could do was sit back as he was glided about on wheels. If not for the horrible reality of being paralysed, Rafe might have gotten a secret thrill from the wheelchair ride. After weeks in bed, this was a welcome distraction. Or so he told himself. The thought of going outdoors when he was completely helpless and defenseless was daunting. Scary, maybe. He spent his young life sheltered with body-guards until he became able to promptly kick ass himself. Or learned to shoot a gun. Now, he was back to square one. "You've been cooped up too long, it's not good for the health."

 _You know what else isn't good for health? Having a couple hundred pounds of gold fall on you from above. Fuck. I should have known the moment I hired them both fifteen years ago that somehow, some-fucking-way, the Drakes were going to be the death of me. They were going to cost me more than some money._ The bitterness never really faded when he reflected on what occurred on The Fancy. In fact, it only seemed to fester and worsen, the grudge amplified with each of his new sufferings and trials. It consumed not just his image of Nathan, but tainted Samuel's too. He only wished he killed them both.

"Maybe I don't _want_ to go fucking outside," Rafe growled out angrily. He could not help it anymore. He lashed out almost instinctively to everyone that spoke to him directly. The sunlight blinded him momentarily, but considering he had not seen the sun since his accident, it was hardly surprising. Squeezing his eyes shut, Rafe kept both casted arms folded on a pillow in his lap. A sling proved much too heavy on his neck with both arms needing the support with the additional weight of the plaster, resting them on the pillow was temporary relief while sitting upright. The weather was warmer than indoors, it was oddly pleasant on its own. But his cranky demeanor forbid him from actually enjoying it. "Fuck, you don't have any shades on you, do you? Burns my eyes."

"None on me, don't worry, I'll find you some shade in the garden. You could use some colour, though." Nadine's stride never broke, turning away from the busy hospital entrance and off to the side-yard where a visitor's garden allowed some moments of respite from the noise and tense atmosphere of the waiting room. As promised, his wheelchair was guided to a comfortable, shady section under some smaller Native trees. Rafe was unfamiliar with the flora of Africa, but it was very beautiful in the better-off places such as this hospital in the largest populated and richest city that offered the kind of treatment he needed. She sat on a bench beside him, a novel under her arm. She took to reading when he was moody and quiet, but the silent company was still better than none. "You don't look so good, Rafe. Are you sleeping?"

 _Is that a serious question, Ross? Really?_ It was hard to stifle the bitter laugh, it emerged as a humorless chuckle instead. "It's all I _can_ do, Nadine. Look at me. I haven't looked good in a long fucking time now."

"Stop being so hard on yourself," came her chastising scolds. Already, she was flicking through the pages of her book. "You're lucky you're alive at all. You nearly _died_ , Rafe. No one is going to come back from that looking exactly as before. And if you keep pulling these pity parties, I'm going to stop coming."

"I've been trying to get you to stop coming from the beginning," Rafe only snapped back wearily. Huddled under the blankets and hospital gown and pillow and bandages and plaster, Rafe could finding nothing else but to reflect on the pitiful situation. He stared off to a carved stone fountain, various colourful birds flitting and splashing and preening. It was almost soothing to watch them. Then they would take flight if someone drifted too close to the water and the spiking envy was back. _Look at them. Utterly free. I wish I was free again. I wish I could fucking swim again. I always felt so … calm in the water. Nothing else mattered._ "Why did you come back? To The Fancy? You left me the first time, it only made sense to stay off the damn boat."

There was a soft pause, Nadine's absent stare down at her book becoming a bit conflicted. She had taken to sweeping her tightly coiled locks into a ponytail, Rafe never asked why the change in style. It might give her the impression he cared. _Tell me. Give me a good fucking reason for this endless hell, Ross. Please._

"It would not have been right for you to have died _because_ of me," Nadine finally admitted. Her tone was angry, but then again, he was sure she was angry most of the time. Like himself, it was one reason why he hired her. "You hired me, Adler. It would not do Shoreline's reputation any good to hear their former employer was killed during a mission. And I was the one that locked the door on you. You were… utterly mad, Rafe. Raving. Your eyes were wild, I never seen you willing to kill people you formerly worked with. Especially Samuel. I thought maybe I would have snapped you out of it. But you were determined to die there. If you simply calmed down, you could have walked away with them. But you didn't. You wanted it all, at the cost of everything and everyone closest to you. It's not like I don't get it, Rafe. Four hundred million of long-long pirate treasure is a good haul, but is it worth your death? Your family can easily make that if you expanded, perhaps. Was the wealth really that important?"

There was a swell of rage at hearing the name 'Samuel', but otherwise he stayed silent and let her confess. Nadine needed an ear as much as Rafe himself needed to listen to the reasons behind her actions. _So that's it. Fucking guilt. She came back for me out of guilt. Am I really that surprised? I guess not, but it's so laughably stupid. It's the reason why I can't feel my ass go numb sitting in this damn chair. Fuck. That's it. She deserves to know. My own father won't move his ass off his throne to get here to see me. I'm as good as dead anyway in his eyes._ "It was all or nothing, Nadine," he finally sighed, tired of the constant secrecy. Just having someone to talk to was a small blessing. "My dad… my father, he was obsessed with Avery and his lost treasure. Loved the idea of treasure hunting, but would never waste the resources to do it. Hire professionals, buy through private auctions, but he'd never go and find it. And that hateful son of a bitch, he would hold it over my head over every given opportunity about the shit Nathan fucking Drake done. Only after I hired that same kid to find that fucking treasure, but when Sam died, he was … inconsolable. Wouldn't focus. Next to goddamn useless, I might as well have hired a mannequin. He just blanked out on me. Eventually, he took off. I let him. Needed to get himself right before he could be any use. I spent my entire adult life seeking this treasure, Ross. Not just the fifteen years the Drakes think I've been doing this without them. Since the day I realized my da-…father would never be fucking happy with me, I couldn't have been a teenager. It's like he was disappointed from the moment I was born I was nothing like him and resented me for it. So he gave me a damn ultimatum last I spoke to him. He said, before we left for Libertalia, that if I did not come back with the treasure in its entirety, then not to bother coming back. He disowned me, Nadine. The reason why I … fucking wouldn't listen was it was all right fucking there. I fucking **touched** it, Nadine. I saw it all. And when I could finally be at goddamn peace, the fucking Drakes had to blow it all up. Sure, Nathan Drake can find treasure and fucking secrets… but can he leave it in one FUCKING piece?!" Rafe never realized he was shouting until a flock of birds took wing and startled people were glancing in his direction. His arms were shaking. If he could clench his hands, they would be balled into tight fists. "And if that wasn't good enough, Drake had to kill me in the worst possible way. Crushed under treasure? _Really_? They call themselves the fucking good guys. He crippled me, left me to drown, and left with his felon brother. For fucking **nothing** , the treasure was absolutely nothing to him. He didn't even _need_ it. He never needed to do anything he done… But the Drakes leave destruction in their wake."

Nadine slowly shifted in her seat, craning her neck enough to finally look at him. Her brow was furrowed but not in confusion, puzzlement, only sympathetic winces that she hardly knew how to wear. Sympathy was never Nadine's specialty. "Rafe, I had no idea," she almost whispered, her tone soft. "You never mentioned this before. You never spoke about your father much simply that he's retired and you're in his place."

" ** _Was_** in his place," Rafe mumbled gently, his voice also lowered. The yelling earlier embarrassed him more than it usually would. He was prone to outbursts in public in the past. But now, he was deeply ashamed of how he looked. "I'm out. He probably written me out of the will the moment I left."

"He never came to see you? Not a single call? I called him personally myself—"

"You _what?_ " Rafe could only hiss in shock at first, finding no rage, no anger. What did he feel exactly? He was not really surprised. Nadine definitely would have done some snooping about his family tree to look for caretakers. Not that it benefited her. "Why? What did he say?"

Another pause. This time, Nadine was deliberately choosing her words very, very carefully. The uncensored version most likely was too much for her to repeat. "I called during your first week here, when you were unconscious and near-death. He took the news with no real surprise. Said some crude things and hung up. I guess he believed it was a joke or a hoax. I called again a few weeks ago, but this time he simply hung up."

 _Oh dear. If I know dear ol' dad, he probably gave her a good tongue-lashing too._ "I could have told you that's how it would go," Rafe only sighed, resigned in his abandonment. After his mother's death, he knew it was only a matter of time before his father got rid of him. "Let me guess. You got lost in his charm."

A snort of tasteless humor on Nadine's part, shaking her head softly. "He's foul, that's putting it mildly. He did not care for any news about you. I'm guessing that's why I have not met him yet."

 _Oh, you have no idea._ "That is most likely due to his own personality quirks," Rafe added. "Like being a racist. A misogynist. Homophobic. Any kind of gross, obnoxious intolerance, really. Not sure why Mom stayed. Arranged marriage of sorts, I guess. You know, rich old families. But no. I never got a sign he knows I'm alive or dead. He means what he said, Nadine. Stop agitating him. I don't want you to piss him off, of all people."

The stubborn burning rage was back in her eyes, it stoked at a moment's notice like being told not to do something. Especially when it involved her. But she did not argue. The disgust in Magnus was still thick in her mouth, Rafe could tell. "That vile, disgusting man," she seethed softly, the novel snapping shut in her hands. "I don't understand, Rafe, you are nothing like he wants. It's not like you were subtle in your flirtations with Samuel. I doubt he is the first. Why would you want to try to make a man like that proud anyway? Why hide who you are?"

"He's my d-… Father, Nadine," Rafe sighed out, almost wanting to shrink down in his seat but his spine unable to cooperate. The surgery put a steel rod in his back, to align his broken spine and repair some of the damage. But now, he was perpetually with his lower spine sitting straight-backed, thankfully numb to discomfort it might cause. "You took Shoreline over from your father. You told me you had no choice in that. So you know better than I do how any resistance is pointless. He groomed me into being his successor. I was his only kid. It only made sense, right? I couldn't just… walk away from it. He would have disowned me sooner. And now look. I only delayed the fucking inevitable. I should have known no matter what I done, I couldn't make him happy. When Mom got sick, it was just a matter of time."

" _Shit_ ," Nadine hissed softly, mostly under her breath. Her tone shifted dramatically, tense, making him frown and instinctively wonder if security or his doctors were coming to wrangle him back. "Rafe, I didn't say anything to—"

"Rafe?"

 _No. No fucking way. I know that fucking voice, I used to hear it whisper in my ear when we were in bed. He used to say my name too. Not like that._ Rafe's head snapped up and eyes widened as he glanced off to the side where the voice called him from. Samuel fucking Drake. Rafe felt immediately sick to his stomach, wanting nothing more than to at least be able to steer the chair himself. At least he could flee then.

Samuel Drake stood there only ten feet away, almost exactly how he remembered him last, that rugged appearance, that loose swagger, only very much lacking the heavy wooden beam that pinned him into the floor of The Fancy. He fared much better in his crush injury, it seemed, bumps and bruises that were almost gone. Thick chestnut hair that was thinning back a bit, same square jaw and broad shoulders, sparse day or two worth of stubble on his lower face. He was wearing a simple tee sport print, the typical Sam attire, jean shirt rolled up at the sleeves well past the elbow. Loose-fitting comfortable jeans, plain boots, his zippo lighter in hand. There was a cigarette between his lips. It looks like he stepped out for a smoke break. The distinctive four birds tattooed on the side of his neck let him know this was not an imposter. This was Samuel, alright. This was not his eyes playing tricks on him and seeing Drake's face in a crowd. He was here. The fact he was carrying a small blue teddy bear and a bouquet of assorted flowers from the gift-shop made it surreal.

"It is… _you_ , Rafe," Samuel almost gasped out in his own stunned shock, taking a half-step forward before Nadine was on her feet and putting herself between them. " _Rafe_ —"

"Step off, Drake," Nadine warned once, her voice lowering dangerously. The novel in her hand was no longer simply a possession, it was being gripped like a potential weapon. She did not want to bring attention to this confrontation but it was one that neither party predicted. "You touch him here—"

"The _FUCK_ are you going on about?" Samuel blurted out, clearly offended and deeply irritated about being accused of some act so low. "Nadine, you know I'd never."

"I'd never thought you'd leave him for dead but I saw you do it," Nadine snarled softly. That brought a jolt of hurt deep inside Rafe. He forgotten Samuel was there on the ship. Samuel escaped alive and unhurt. And left him alone after giving his brother the blade that nearly killed him. "He was alive, Samuel. I had to go back and do what you **should** have done. You call yourself the heroes? The good men? That's low, even for you."

"Listen, I had no idea. If I knew he was even still _alive_ —"

"I want to go back to my room," Rafe interrupted immediately, feeling a deep stabbing panic and grief. He cared about Samuel, but it was clear the Drakes only thought about each other and themselves. The fact was the partner he betrayed and nearly executed had to save his life, not the man he slept with and felt oddly intimate and close to. It felt like his heart was going to implode in his chest at the staggering level of betrayal. How knew this shit could _hurt_? His eyes were burning with humiliated and saddened tears. "Nadine, bring me back."

Reluctantly, Nadine Ross let her feet budge from the spot she occupied between them, to act as a physical barrier if need be. Samuel almost went after her, _almost_. He seemed to know that was the wrong act. But his pinched expression, his grit jaw, portrayed all the conflict he needed. The handles to his wheelchair were taken and Nadine went to guide him back but Drake's good behaviour only went so far. He immediately put himself in their path.

" **Move** ," Nadine hissed, clearly not amused nor impressed with his attitude. "Out of the way."

"Nadine, just let me do **_this_** ," Sam insisted, both arms extending as if to display his gifts, peace offerings. "Rafe, baby, I had no fuckin' clue—"

"Don't **call** me that," Rafe snapped, but his tears were already clouding his vision. He did not want to let them fall, but it was getting so hard to resist it. He hung his head down to avoid looking at him, now that the shock wore off and the appeal was gone. "Nadine, _please_ , I want to go." _Please, get me out of here. Please, I hardly ask you to do anything for me, please do this. Don't leave me with him. He fucking did this. He made this happen._

Gifts forgotten on the ground moments after dropping them, Samuel sunk down to his knees in front of the wheelchair, cupped calloused hands reaching for Rafe's face. Much to his surprise, Nadine did not yank the chair back. He wanted her to, more than anything, he wanted her to be a prickly mama bear right now of all times. Before fingertips could graze him, Rafe withdrew his whole head and neck as abruptly yet comfortably as he could. It _still_ hurt. Grimacing with the deep-seated pain that radiated from his core, his very ribs smashed to pieces and needing surgical repair which done little for the agony for now.

"Rafe, _please_ , the moment I woke up, I only saw Nathan on the floor," Sam was murmuring rapidly, trying to rush through his explanation in the off-chance it could sink in. "I don't remember a damn thing, Rafe. Nothing, just the damn wood beam on me and Nathan trying to shove it off."

"Drake, **_move_** ," Nadine warned again. Rafe was afraid she might just run him down, regardless if he was sitting there. "Five seconds."

 _Fuck, Nadine, why?! Let's go! Now! I don't want to do this, I don't want to see the fucking Drakes. Oh my God, if Nathan walks out from around the corner, I'm going to make a fucking scene. I'm going to lose my goddamn mind._ Rafe felt his throat clenching painfully, a solid mass of emotion forming to block it, pure sobs and screaming no amount of swallowing could suppress for long. "Get me out of here, Nadine…" Rafe whimpered gently now. He was fighting the strain in his voice to little avail. "Please, I want to go back, get me out of here, **_please_**!"

Closing his eyes, he could not see Samuel's expression, but the hurt in his voice was tangible, it was hard not to picture that kicked-puppy pout he mastered too well for an ex-con. But warm fingertips were tracing the fresh scars along his jaw, one of the many surgical zones to repair fractures underneath. "Jesus, baby, look what _happened_ to you… How couldn't I seen you there? What hurt you, baby?"

 _Are you fucking kidding me right now? Your perfect fucking brother didn't tell you what he done, his great final battle in his quest?_ The sudden flare of rage came so unexpected underneath it all, the hatred and bitterness and suffering over the weeks of consciousness and the times he was in too much agony to remember. But before he could explode, Nadine's voice cut like a knife in the stillness, like everyone else nearby was listening to their exchange. Either that, or everyone left to give them space. Rafe was too afraid to look for himself.

"Is that a joke, Drake? Because it was your own brother that done this."

Fingertips withdrew, enough that Rafe could not help but open his eyes to see. Samuel was looking over him, glaring up at Nadine with an intensity he only seen when he held a gun to her head before. He looked not trapped like that time. He just looked pissed, like being confronted with a lie. _He doesn't fucking believe her. He doesn't think his brother is capable of shit like this. Samuel, your little brother might be more of a killer than you are. And you have not a fucking clue._

"Nathan did this? Bull-fucking-shit. Nathan only defends himself, he'd never—"

Rafe could not bear it anymore. He was done with Samuel defending Nathan's often ruthless behaviour with casual reluctance.

"Nathan-goddamn-Drake did this to me," Rafe spat, drawing Samuel's disbelieving stare. "Don't believe me? Because I remember _everything_ , you asshole. He dropped a literal tonne of gold on me and broke my back and now, I won't be able to walk for the _rest_ of my goddamn **life**. The one you handed the fucking sword to, Sam! How do you not fucking **_remember_** that?! Your innocent _little_ brother. The one you had to rope into this. He didn't fucking care if I was alive or not, and because **he** didn't, neither did **you** —"

"Rafe, _baby_ —"Samuel was shaking his head now, various conflicting emotions crossing over his face.

"No, don't fucking talk to me right now, Sam," Rafe nearly seethed, he needed to get a lot off his chest. "You stopped giving a shit about me the moment you ran off to see him after I busted you out of that hellhole and he had no clue about you. Two years, Sam. We were together for two fucking _years_ , and then you left. You just **left** me, got your destructive brother into this and that sad old man, and now **_look_**! Even standing in Avery's manor… I gave you a choice. Work with me and I'd let everyone live. You got away from me yet again, and you know what? I was **willing** to let you go! No matter how much you broke my trust, I was going to let you go and live out your sad miserable life with the rest of that rag-tag group. But that wasn't enough for you. You had to fucking **follow** me there… and because of that, your fucking brother followed **_you_**! It was your decision that put me **here** , Samuel. You're the reason why I won't be able to fucking swim again! I _loved_ you, I gave you a chance to have it all. But you took it from me, tossed me aside and ran off like you _always_ fucking do. You left me to die. Fuck **you** , Sam."

Samuel's eyes were gleaming with gathering tears in the sun, the sight enough for Rafe to declare a miniature victory. It was hardly as satisfying as walking. Or simply getting a glass of water on his own damn accord. Hesitantly, he was reaching for him again, this time Rafe batted it away clumsily with a cast. The movement was unpredicted and very agonizing, his shoulders were remarkably tender from the operation to put in a steel plate and repair his shoulder-blade. Rafe winced and almost cried out, biting his lip with a growl.

"Rafe, I'd never have done it if I knew," Samuel still insisted, but his voice was thick. He was struggling to keep himself together. "Baby, I'm so **_sorry_** —"

"Save it for someone who gives a fuck," Rafe snarled viciously. The tears were his scent of blood to a shark drawn to prey. He just wanted Samuel to hurt as much as he did over those lonely, long weeks when Sam was just out enjoying his freedom like nothing occurred. "It's your damn fault I have nothing now. All that money? **Gone**. My father disowned me! I don't have a fucking penny to my name. Hell, I don't even have a _name_ now! Technically, I'm not an Adler anymore. Keep your trinkets, asshole. Leave me the _fuck_ alone, let me die in peace like you should have done from the start. Have a good life, because you Drakes took mine."

" _Rafe_ —" Samuel was already mumbling out, but it was clear he was close to sobbing himself.

 _Good. Let him choke on them._ "Nadine," Rafe only had to ask once, before his chair was already pulling backwards away from Samuel's kneeling position. The wheelchair glided almost soundlessly away. Rafe did not dare look back, they did not dignify Samuel a response as Nadine guided him directly back to his room. Nadine made a point to tell the staff not to allow any visitors with the surname Drake into Rafe's vicinity. But the moment the door clicked shut behind them, safe and relatively private as his health allowed him, Rafe came unglued. Sobs were spilling out of him like an over-filled cup, hot trails of tears running down his cheeks and stinging the healing wounds along his chin. _Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Why?! Why did he have to come here?! Why can't he just leave me alone?! Hasn't he done enough damage to me? Maybe when he finally kills me, he'll be happy. Both the damn Drakes could be happy again._

" _Eich_ , Rafe, are you hurt?" Nadine immediately inquired, dipping down to his side at the floor by crouching beside the chair to look up at his face. His head hanging down and casted hands going up to touch his own eyes, to wipe away the tears. "Is it the pain? Did he hurt you?"

 _When he stabbed me in the back, or when he ripped my heart out?_ If he had the spare breath to heave in, he might have found the words. But Rafe was sobbing too damn hard to get a single syllable out. His eyes were closed, he could not bring himself to look at anyone, not even the sympathetic eyes of Nadine, his former partner. He wanted to hide his face. Crying his eyes out was too damn humiliating. But before he could cover himself, his casted arms stopped inches from doing so, an unseen strength tugging them down. Startled, Rafe forced himself to look.

Nadine's hands were encircling his encased wrists, stopping them just short. Scowling despite his distress, Rafe tried to pull his arms back. "Stop," Nadine warned once, her voice back to the soft, gentle tone. "Don't. You'll get the cast wet. Come on, Rafe, just breathe for a moment."

 _Easy for you to say. I **trusted** him, Nadine. I fucking loved that man. And he paralysed me by proxy. _There was soft cotton swabbing at his sore features, dabbing the moisture away. Letting the casts into his lap, Rafe watched as Nadine was patiently drying his tears like she would a distraught child with a corner of the blanket settled over his shoulders. Finding his lungs aching for oxygen, he sucked in a shaky breath and whimpered anew. His heart felt like it was being torn in two separate, throbbing pieces. He did not think simply seeing Samuel Drake again would do this to him. _Why would he come? How did he find me? Nadine wouldn't tell him. She was about to say that. Right before he said my name. She wouldn't be against crossing me once to get my ass back, but she hates the Drakes like I do._

"Shhh, hush now. It's over. He's not allowed in here. You're safe," Nadine continued to whisper, a sign of tenderness he had ever yet to see from her. She was wincing, as if his complete lack of composure made her uncomfortable. Hell, it made him uncomfortable, too. "He's not going to hurt you, Rafe. You're safe here in a hospital, there's security and guards and you're safe."

"How can you fucking _know_ that?" Rafe found himself nearly howling. He swallowed once, enough to calm himself down an inch or two. The anxiety, the uncertainty, the anger, the mistrust, it was all closing in. He felt like he wanted to suffocate, although he was getting plenty of air from heaving, shaky inhales. He could not find himself to look into her eyes. Not when he was not himself. "I, I can't fight, I can't run, I can't even move! I'm so freaked out, you have no goddamn _idea_. I thought I'd feel safe here… But I'm not safe, Nadine. I'm not s-safe."

Nadine shook her head, quick to dispel his fears. "No, you're _safe_ , just listen to me. There are doctors here and nurses. They won't let someone come in and hurt you."

 _Why the hell not? They're not armed. They're not trained to fight._ Rafe shook his head violently, no matter how the tendons creaked in his neck or the muscles burned from the strain. "Y-you don't get it! I c-can't **fight** , Nadine!" Rafe only cried out, trying to voice his hidden, but now somehow real fears. "M-maybe I c-could fight off the D… Drakes before. I c-can't stand up! He and N-Nathan wiped out entire fucking **armies**! I… I can't even h-hire a fucking mall cop…"

"Rafe, use your damn head," she scolded, but not unkindly. "Why would the Drakes do that? You said it yourself, you have nothing. Why would they try to harm you now? That's not their style."

" _Funny_ , I thought I t-told you that once," Rafe rasped softly, the hitches of his breath lessening with the sobs. The memory was still fresh, vividly so. The Drakes at Libertalia, Nadine unarmed and the pistol to her temple. And Samuel glaring with a look so vicious, he had yet to fully believe it. "He nearly fucking killed you. Right in front of me."

"No need to remind me," she muttered back darkly. "That was different. You had them cornered with a gun on them back then. You're here alone and defenseless. Neither Drake would have reason to come and harm you now."

Exhaling shakily, Rafe had to allow it all to sink in despite his anxieties. She was right. But that still did not explain why Samuel was here. "Why did he come? God, he maimed me for life and now he saw it. With fucking flowers? Is that supposed to make things _better_?"

The cotton stopped brushing over his face, setting back down in his lap where the blanket originated from. Nadine was slowly standing up, now that she was concentrating on getting him back into his bed. The wheelchair was already gliding to the hospital frame of the bed, equipped with buttons and signals and scales. "He must have found your name through the records. How, I have no clue. I thought the Drakes would be useless with modern technologies, its way out of their element. I didn't see the younger brother anywhere. Maybe he came alone. He's gone now, Rafe. You'll be safe."

 _You keep saying that. But that won't deter Samuel. He'd gladly take another prison sentence if it meant sneaking in here._ That uneasy thought hung on, well after he was tucked back into bed and visiting hours were over. As lights were turned off for the night for him to sleep, he lay awake, wondering when he would see Samuel Drake again. It was only a matter of time.


	3. Chapter 3

It took much longer than Rafe predicted for Samuel to show his sorry face again, perhaps the realization he was responsible for the slightly younger man's impairment for life was too much to confront so soon again. It was the middle of the night, well past visiting hours, the lights off and the curtains drawn to the glass barrier wall in his private room. Nadine's payment allowed the privacy, but for how much longer Rafe was not sure. It was two weeks since the episode in the garden outside, and Rafe had stubbornly insisted he was going nowhere since. As much as Nadine tried to goad him into going outside again, he flat refused. It was too open outside. Too vulnerable. Rafe was not sure what immediately woke him, maybe the shift in scent from sterile cotton and stale sweat to smoky burnt tobacco, maybe the ghost of a touch along his brow and sweeping a stray lock of his hair away. Eyes still closed, Rafe frowned. _Am I dreaming? I hope so. I don't want to be in this hospital anymore. I want to be in my own bed. With Sam. Like last year, just before the summer set in._ The memory was bitter-sweet, hauntingly beautiful and sad at the same time. The cool spring light settled in over them both, waking Samuel first, enough for him to stir against his back and snuggle close. It was the last morning they shared. Before the fight. Before Samuel disappeared on him, to find his brother. It hurt to think about. The betrayal still stung as fresh as it had the first night alone.

A whisper of cloth, movement off to the side that was independent of his own body. That was what triggered Rafe to open his eyes, the blurry vision that greeted him alarming yet not deeply surprising. Samuel Drake sat in the visitor's chair often left by Nadine, having slid much closer than his former partner often dared. Sam's thickly muscled arms were folded under his chin, large hazel-brown eyes adoringly gazing up at him from his propped position against his pillow. For a few scattered heart-beats, no one said a thing. They simply stared at each other mutually, as if both having rehearsed this moment but still at a loss for words when it came.

It was Sam that finally spoke first. His brash or often loud voice was hushed, like during the hours of pillow talk between them before things fell to shit. But he was calm. Not upset, not weepy. He had time to think and gather his wits before he came back. "They took your casts off."

 _Yeah. Just yesterday. Still feels weird without them._ Rafe had to dare a quick glance down to his skinny, atrophied arms lifeless on the blankets, hideously mutilated from the surgeries to repair the structure. The efforts to save them allowed Rafe to keep them, but they hardly resembled the smooth, pale yet powerfully toned limbs they used to be. Ugly, crooked and thick pink lines of fresh scar tissue lined up and down them both, vanishing under his hospital robes. Grimly aware, he knew they did not stop there. They mutilated him head to toe in an effort to save his life. The surgeons tried to be more respective with his face, but as subtle or as cleverly placed as the scars were, they were still there. He long stopped giving a shit about what he looked like. He knew his hair was a mess. He hardly ever had to deal with facial hair in his life, he was gifted with handsomely boyish looks. The minimal shaving he needed in his recovery was done by the day-time nurses. All the while, it was deeply humiliating. Unable to look after himself, groom himself, bathe, eat, dress, hell even go to the bathroom unassisted was troubling short-term. Staring down the barrel of a lifetime with that was hell.

"Lucky me," Rafe only grumbled wearily. "All the fucking good it does me now."

"I'm so sorry, Rafe. I know this might sound the same. But I had no idea you were still breathing when we left. I just… vaguely remember after the wood beam, the fire. I think I did shove him the knife. Rafe… Did you really intend to kill him?" Samuel was not shying away today. He was staring at him inquisitively, but not with anger as Rafe expected. "Tell me. What was the plan from there, if you killed him? What about me?"

Rafe had to supress a hysterical laugh. _Are you shitting me right now, Samuel? Really? When did you give a shit?_ His expression hardened to a glare, slowly pulling the scrawny arms away from Sam's reach. He felt hurt and betrayed and pissed all over again. "Yeah, so I _tried_ to kill Nathan goddamn Drake. I'm not exactly the **first** , there was a whole line ahead of me. Sam, if I did not bring the treasure back to my dad, he was tossing me out of the family, the will, the job, everything. You and your brother were only in the way. If you just stayed away, Sam, I wouldn't have had to _try_ to kill anyone. I didn't need a stupid plan. I had everything I _needed_ , right there. Why did you have to steal the boat to get onto the ship? If you just fucking _stopped_ …"

"I know, baby, I _know_ ," Samuel hushed, snagging one of Rafe's bony wrists and wrangling the squirming limb close to press a few scattered kisses up his knuckles. Much against his feelings, his nature, and his very will, Rafe shivered in a Pavlovian reflex he come to know from Sam's affections. He felt a surge of annoyance, scowling. "I should've stopped. I just… couldn't help it, Rafe. It was right fuckin' there, a lifetime of dreaming. But I nearly got you killed. I nearly got us all killed. You're alive now, that's all that matters, right?"

 _No. No, it's not. You don't get it, you were raised in a shithole, you spent your fucking life in a prison cell between troubles. I had everything, and now, nothing to show for it._ Rafe wanted to scoff, wanted to rage and shout like last time. But Sam being here meant he snuck past security. And the desire for some familiar company was more of a pull than kicking his sorry ass out. If he had more family or friends, he might have done otherwise. But he was so utterly alone. Nadine was only coming out of pity. Rafe winced, torn in his emotions. "How did you find me, Samuel?"

That seemed to relax Sam a bit more. Not being outright rejected like last time was a good sign. Rafe knew he could be prickly at times with his often epic anger-fits, or sometimes vanishing and hiding away when his tantrums worn through. Absently, he let Rafe's arm lay slack against the bedding once more, calloused fingertips tracing over the surgical scars lightly. "I thought you were _dead_. But on a whim, I had Nate's girl Elena look it up, your family is pretty well-known. Your name surfaced in reports at a major hospital in South Africa. Nothing big, just a report of a car accident. I had to see it for myself. I… didn't actually think I'd see you. Part of me hoped you were elsewhere, or back home. But I heard your name when I went out for a smoke. I saw you in the wheelchair. Swore my heart stopped."

"Quite the shock for us both, believe me," Rafe grunted softly. He simply allowed himself to be touched. Sam could be quite busy with his hands regardless of his feelings on the matter, sometimes annoyingly or obnoxiously so. He was one of those men that could not keep their hands to themselves when with someone they were truly comfortable with. Rafe was too tired to resist anymore. His body no longer housed the previous strength and stamina he honed for years. "I'm still fucking **mad** at you, Sam. But I'm more pissed at your brother."

"I get it, babe," Samuel murmured into Rafe's knuckles once he raised the hand to his lips again, planting a few more kisses there along his fingers. "I'll spend a _long_ fuckin' time paying you back for it, promise you that."

" _Whoa_ , Samuel, you're moving much too fast," Rafe almost laughed, slightly amused at the near-desperation on Drake's part to make-up. As if life-long paralysis was something easy to look past and forgive like expired milk or shrunk laundry. "We might have been a thing _before_. I think that whole … fucking mess, constitutes a break-up by normal people's standards. Sam. You don't fucking get it. When my lifestyle and livelihood wasn't enough for you Drakes to take from me, you had to fuck up my body too. I can't feel a damn thing below my waist, nothing at all. My legs might as well be back with Avery's ship. Your brother nearly killed me. In the worst possible way. Didn't have the decency to cut me down like one of the others he fought against. No, he had to crush me with the thing my father would sacrifice me for. And you helped. I… still care about you, Sam, I do. But you're not exactly a source of stability right now. Aren't you on fucking _parole_ or community service by now, being free for two years?"

"Hah hah, you're hysterical," Sam quipped back, but clearly a bit hurt by being put off. The kicked-puppy-look both Drakes apparently had mastered came on strong right now. "Rafe, I'm not asking you to come to a family Thanksgiving dinner, I'm asking you to be with me. Hell, Nathan's got his own life now. I should be finding mine. And the stupid part? I can't help but think my finding you here means something. What are the chances I'd run into you like that?"

"Considering you came looking for me? Pretty fucking good," Rafe snapped irritably. It was rather agitating that he was purposely sought out like that. It made him wonder who else might come snooping. "No. I'm not doing this 'written in the stars, blah blah' bullshit with you. I knew you could be a dope and a sap, but _really_ , Drake? That's too corn-dog romantic even for you. Take that sentimental Hallmark shit and cram it up your ass."

Samuel's brows raised, almost perplexed by such wording and attitude. Rafe knew he was different now, his tolerance for playful banter had intensely shortened. Even entertaining the idea of a life with Sam now just was a joke. " _Wow_ , someone's crabby. Rafe. I'm not proposing. You have no one and nothing, you said it yourself. And what's Nadine going to do, hire a nurse or look after you herself? You know that's not her."

 _Fuck, Sam, why do you do this shit to me like point out you're right? Especially now? Just let me have this._ Resigned to his fate of destitution or death, Rafe sighed. He was not one to give up when shit got tough. He could put his head down and work his ass off like anyone else. But this whole process was terrifying alone. Being homeless, being disabled, facing down a brand new position in life? He was scared. He would be stupid if he was not.

"Come back to America with me," Sam abruptly prompted, lacing Rafe's fingers with his own and clasping his hand between both of his in a pleading, begging body language he come to know well. "You don't have to worry about a thing, I can help you. Think about it. Why stay here? Why bother? Come back home."

Shaking his head against his pillows, Rafe was only following his instincts. To trust in the Drakes again after this? He would have to be a complete moron. He would be glutton for punishment, going along with his stupid plan. " **No**. Not happening. I have absolutely nothing waiting for me back there but a whole lot of enemies and no fucking money or security or even a _roof_ over my head. My home? My home is no doubt auctioned off by my father's say-so, everything I owned, too. That bed we used to share? It's gone. It's all gone. I have nothing, you don't get it Sam!"

Cringing at the raising in the volume of his voice, Sam brought a finger to his own lips in a shushing gesture. "Okay, _okay_ , baby, I get it. You're right, it won't be the same, but I'm not letting you live in a box on the fuckin' sidewalk, it's **not** happening. You can't stay here neither, you think you'll be any safer on _these_ streets? Just calm down, Rafe, I got you. I know. You're scared."

"No _shit_."

"I get it, I would be scared too. Anybody'd be scared. But you don't have to do it alone, Rafe. You don't have to do everything alone like you feel like doing, like you've been doing all these damn years." Samuel was watching him closely for his reaction, knowing one wrong move could prove badly. Rafe's hair-trigger temper was worsening with his added stress. "Think of it like this. I **owe** you this. Let me at least try and pay you back, make things better."

 _Samuel, you're a good, sweet guy. Underneath that tough rugged exterior, that swagger, you're a big romantic softie. If things went another way, maybe we could have been something._ Reluctantly, Rafe met Sam's gaze, large and begging brown eyes he could not help but melt for. Returning to America was inevitable. He knew he had to if eventually to get in touch with the embassy, go back home, start fresh. But he never had to do it on his own, without a guiding hand. He had his parents' wealth, he had tutors, body guards, coaches, professors, nannies, and he never had to depend on his own true efforts. As much as he loathed to admit such a thing, Rafe knew he was sheltered despite his occasional dealings with criminal underworlds. The brief stint in the Panamanian prison was as close to Hell as he had ever been, he was counting the days to escape the moment they got in. The Drakes almost took to it like they were at home, fish to water. Samuel perhaps the most. He was thankful for their assistance, he doubted he would have survived long on his own. Maybe it would not be the end of the world to trust the lesser of two evils, the Drakes. Samuel would not physically hurt him. Nathan, most likely.

"So, hypothetically speaking if I were to board a flight back with you, what do you propose?" Rafe asked softly, trying to maintain a calm and relaxed voice despite the ripples of anxieties taking hold deep in his belly. "I'm not crashing at Nathan's house with you, you can forget that right now."

A huge, authentic grin broke out across the elder Drake's lined features, almost goofy in its own right by the sheer joy in it. " _No_ , baby, don't worry about that. I found my own place before we… you know, had that argument. I rarely used it, I was mostly at your place. But part of me didn't want to be spending the night on any couches any time soon if I got kicked out of the bedroom. Suppose it turned out to be a good idea. It's nothing much, but it's a home. I mean it, Rafe, you won't have to worry about a single thing, I got everything handled. I can get everything ready—"

"Whoa, cool it," Rafe shushed gently, immediately nervous by the plans Samuel seemed to have already laid out. It freaked him out. For someone who is immersed in control, having someone else control his future at this point in his life was deeply disturbing. "I said _hypothetical_. I'm still considering my options, got it? I'm not going anywhere until I get cleared by the doctors. Your brother done some serious damage to my back that might need another surgery, fuck if I know."

"That sounds _vaguely_ dirty."

Rafe swat at Sam's affectionate grasp out of disgust and annoyance, Samuel's playfulness at times could be exasperating when he lacked the energy. "Fucking knock it off, you old pervert."

"Hey, I'm not that much older than you."

"Enough to show it," Rafe teased a little, wrinkling his nose with the faintest of smiles. It felt good to at least joke a bit like he used to. With the pain lessening every day it was easier to find himself in slightly better moods than constantly angry. _Maybe this won't be a bad idea. Samuel would protect me with his life. Looking at him now, I know that._ "Samuel. You hardly have any money yourself. How the hell are we going to do this? My medical expenses are covered, Nadine's been generous. But that hardly covers everything. The flight back? Rent? Food? A bigger bed?"

Much to Rafe's further discomfort and anxiety, Samuel Drake never seemed to hold his concerns, he was a 'handle it as it comes' sort of guy. That improvised nature drove him wild, not in a good way. Even now, Sam's thrilled little smirk never faltered, his eyes almost alight with joy. He only shook his head, still clasping Rafe's hand in both of his own. "Baby, you worry too much. Compared to everything else, this'll be a breeze. I can find a way to scrape some cash together, get things set up for you. You just gotta trust me on this, okay, Rafe? Just trust me."

 _Easy for you to say. You're not stuck in a wheelchair half the day and the other half in bed. All caused indirectly by something you did, you dick-weed._ Rafe had to sigh again. For now, it seemed that was the plan. Staying in South Africa with Nadine was becoming more and more unlikely every moment he truly reflected on it. Nadine would be raging to get back in control of Shoreline's reputation. "Alright, Sam. Please, don't fuck me over again, _okay_? I'm trusting you with my life here."

* * *

When Nadine came to visit two days later, she immediately knew something was off. The room had changed, not the simply toss-over by the nurses in an effort to freshen up the place. Curiously, she froze in the doorway just before she stepped inside, gaze sharpening once it fixed on the chair moved much closer to the bed, before flitting to other features. The get well card, the only of its kind in his room, stood solitary on the windowsill. Samuel's contribution. The teddy bear and flowers did not make a reappearance, Rafe never asked. Maybe he stole them from the shop and simply returned them. Finally, Nadine came over and corrected the chair's position before sinking into it, regarding him with suspicious eyes. "I would ask you who was here, but I have a feeling I know. When did he come?" she asked, almost hissing angrily.

 _Aw, shit, here we go. I knew she wasn't going to take this well. Alright, damage control, work your charm._ Rafe tried to quirk a smile, but he was out of practice. It was a long stretch since he had to try and grin through an uncomfortable situation. "Alright, just relax, Nadine."

"You know better than to tell me to relax. Spill it, Rafe."

"Sam came by in the middle of the night. Couple days back? He's not a threat, Ross. He never was to me. You, sure. Me, he's got a soft spot for. Enough to ask me to move in with him when I get discharged."

An incredulous, wide-eyed shock came across Nadine's amber irises, her jaw dropping but only a tiny half inch at the most. She made a disgruntled scoffing sound, arms folding across her chest as she stared him down. "You really think that's a bright thing to do, Rafe? The Drakes are the ones that done this, and you're going to _live_ with them? You know how insane that sounds?"

 _I knew I'd have to warm her up to the idea, but this might take some serious silver-tongue here. Shit. I wish I practiced this more._ Rafe rehearsed this over and over in his head, sometimes mumbling his parts out loud when alone. But really, what choice did he have? "Okay, I get it, you're skeptical. But apparently Samuel is a crafty sonnavabitch, he rented his own place. And you know he wouldn't purposely do anything to harm me. Neglect to remember what happened on The Fancy, maybe, he might have had some head trauma himself. But, think about it. What's the plan here, Ross? When I finally do get discharged, what then? I bunk with you for a while? I'm not **from** here. I know fuck all about the language, this place, wildlife, nothing. I should go back home, no matter if there is nothing to go back to on my own. Sam's got a place to crash. He came up with the idea. He wants to make it right. I might not trust him fully yet, you're right about that, but what real choice do I have?"

Nadine looked like she wanted to argue, the stubborn glare never receded but there was clear reason to his line of thinking. He was not rushing into anything stupidly. He did think it through. He should return to his country of origin to regroup. And she was unable to care for him long-term. Hell, he was not sure if she was willing to try for one night. "Rafe, I'm telling you this might not be a great idea. You're right about returning. You should go home. But I'm afraid this could backfire. How the hell I know he doesn't live in some roach-infested dump? Your health would worsen."

 _Of all the times I needed the mama bear, I get it now. Great._ Rafe had to resist rolling his eyes, meeting her gaze readily, trying to be glib. "Then come with me. If you don't find it up to your standards, you can pull me out and take me back with you. Not that you would want that. Inspect it for roaches, if you want. Go over it with a fine-tooth comb, I don't care. It's not like he needs to baby-proof the place."

That brought a small snort of a laugh, hardly anything at all. But that seemed to satiate her, that last little safe-guard that she herself was the gatekeeper of. She never trusted anyone else to do something but to check it for herself. "Fine. How do you intend on getting home? He going to pay your ticket?"

It turned out to be a little bit more problematic than that. Another two weeks on top of that, a total of nearly two and a half months in the hospital, Rafe was discharged and allowed to leave. They were kind enough to donate the wheelchair, but it was Nadine that possessively steered the chair's direction with their stride as they left the front doors and headed through the parking lot. Samuel had to nearly jog to keep up with the duo, but he was clearly thrilled about the possibility of Rafe moving in, he was chattering on about all the new stuff he put in the apartment after the move. Something about a new installed shower and bathtub? How much money did Samuel manage to squirrel away? Rafe already forgot what he paid him before, but Sam might have stored it all. Hell, nearly 13 years could put a hell of a lot of interest on whatever he threw him at the start of their involvement. He thought Samuel was the fast and loose kind of spender. But not as far as rentals and plane tickets go. Much to both of Rafe's and Nadine's reluctance, Victor Sullivan was their ride back to America. He was standing by their rather clunky sedan in a slate grey.

"Mr. Adler, Ms. Ross," Victor greeted him stiffly, not forgetting their last words shared. It was at the Rossi Estate, before bidding began on the crucifix. Rafe threatened to kill him twice that night. But now, huddled in a wheelchair, hardly resembling the suave white-jacket rich kid he was, Rafe could only stare up at him from his permanent position now. "Been a while."

There was a deep tinge of hatred down in Rafe's stomach, feeling venom begin to bubble under the calm surface of his demeanor. He simply glanced half-lidded with his former swagger he wore, a faintest of smiles on his lips regardless of his temper barely held in check. _Keep it together, Rafe. Come on, you asshole, you got this. He's not going to start cracking cripple jokes, just relax._ "Victor. Mean to apologize for my behaviour last time. We all kinda lost our heads in that chase to the treasure," Rafe assured, one elbow perched on the armrest, fingers laced together. "I… mean to thank you for this as well. I'm in a bit of a bind here."

"Say no more, really," Victor insisted, mostly uncomfortable at Samuel's strong insistence on these plans. He was already getting behind the driver's wheel, ready to head to the airport. "Come on, lady and gentlemen, let's get this show on the road."

 _Okay. Great. Crisis averted. But how do I get in?_ With a faint flush, Rafe was wondering just how he was going to maneuver himself into the back seat with his skinny, under-toned arms. Physiotherapy was helping with his stamina and strength, but it would mostly take practice and time. Which he had neither now. His inner-conflict was interrupted abruptly when Samuel crouched down beside him and scooped his inert legs on one arm, lifting him up under the ass with the other. Alarmed and embarrassed, Rafe's own scrawny arms flung around Sam's neck in fear of being dropped. _Holy fuck, I don't think I'll ever get used to that. Him carrying me around. I'm going to have to. He's to be my … live-in fuckable nurse?_

"Watch it!" Rafe hissed under his breath, knowing Samuel would hear it in such close proximity. He felt the older man tense only faintly, but altogether he took his task very seriously. Almost lovingly, he placed Rafe into the backseat, before actually securing his seatbelt for him like he would a child. Rafe had to stare disbelievingly a second. "Really? Sam, I'm paralysed from the waist down, not shoulders. I can do my own seatbelt, for future reference."

Sam hardly looked apologetic, in fact he appeared a bit proud of himself, almost smug. "Just making sure you're settled, relax. I'm just gonna be sitting up front, okay?"

Unamused, Rafe had to give him the slowest, lethargic blink he could manage with the straightest, yet calm face. His hands folded in his lap once more, fingers laced again. "Samuel. Stop it. I'm fine. Go sit, Sullivan doesn't want to be kept waiting."

Nadine had already folded the wheelchair and stuck it in the trunk before sliding into adjacent backseat from her own door before Sullivan laughed out loud at Rafe's statement. The ride was uneventful, deeply awkward and quiet. Other than the occasional cough or whatever, there was hardly a sound. Not that Rafe minded. It was nice to simply look out the window, absently playing with the new scar marking his bottom lip. The change of scenery was a small blessing. He thought he would never leave that small room in the hospital. Just the shifting buildings to look at alone was fascinating enough that he hardly noticed the uncomfortable silence. But eventually, they got to the airport without incident. He thought the wheelchair was going to come back out, Nadine had the same train of thought. But Samuel had other plans. Instead of harmlessly transferring him to the mobile-seat, Sam simply walked past the chair towards the plane. Looping one arm around Sam's thick neck, Rafe dared a bit of a scowl as he glared up at him.

"You know, if you're showing off for _her_ , it's not working. You're just going to piss Ross off," Rafe grumbled, part of him dearly wishing he was not numb below the damage to his spine. It would have been bliss just to feel Sam's hands on his ass again, even the glancing harmless brushes. "Plus, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm not showing off for her, I'm trying to show off for you, ya big dummy," Samuel affectionately crooned, already entrenched in his caretaker role and taking it wholeheartedly. It was an encouraging sign. It actually made him a wee bit less nervous. "No point putting you in the chair just to take you out again when we get on. Relax, baby, I got you."

"Can you stow it with the 'baby' talk in ear-shot of these people?" Rafe hissed back, self-conscious about how their relationship might be perceived among their acquaintances. Nadine was aware of his shenanigans with Samuel Drake, but Victor Sullivan? It was not a secret he was willing to flaunt to their circles. "The hell did you tell them anyway? 'Oh, I'm just gonna let the guy that tried to kill us shack up with one of us, why not?' I doubt it went that well."

"You're right about that," Samuel murmured low, his voice hushed to keep their conversation private. "I might have left out the nature of our… _thing_ , but I insisted I couldn't leave you here to rot alone. Wouldn't be right. Considering what happened and all, you needed help. Nate's still not… really getting it. Sully's warming up. _Maybe_. Hell, I dunno, it's hard to tell anymore. I have a feeling they wouldn't tell me their honest opinions on the matter if I asked."

 _Oh, great. That's all I need, this deal to be shaky and precarious. I don't know if I should trust you on this, Drake. Don't screw me on this._

Victor Sullivan's plane was hardly what Rafe had called air-worthy, it did not resemble the high-class comforts of flight the Avery family preferred. It was a battered, patched old aquatic plane, one that could stay afloat and no doubt came in handy during the Drakes' interference in the chase to Libertalia. Rafe just never imagined he would find himself inside the damn thing. It resembled a retiree's RV or mobile home, the typical previous seats all removed and the interior renovated. The seats were mere couches welded into the floor, seatbelts soldered into the frame. There were bunks in the back, evidence of the Drakes everywhere through scattered books, writings, photos, sketches. Much to Rafe's disgust, much of the recent mess was on the subject of the treasure hunt for Libertalia. But Sam seemed to find himself perfectly at home, lowering Rafe equally sweetly into his seat before piling himself into the neighbouring spot on the patched, weathered couch. Rafe had to bite back any remarks. This was hardly what he called a decent flight back, but considering how often the Drakes were able to interfere in this wild goose-chase, this plane had to be **somewhat** air-worthy. Somewhat. If the inside told him anything, it was that Sullivan might not have a real stable home on the ground. This hunk of aluminum was his home. _Christ. Why did I think he had the money at Rossi's? Look at this dump. I doubt he could have paid for the drink._ Nadine found her own seat in another section of the plane, no doubt still fuming about the arrangement. It was not Rafe's ideal situation neither, but like every move he will have to make after The Fancy, he will have to make do with what he has. A surreal possibility. All his life, he had money or his father's influence to get him everything he needed. Now, he did not even have an able body.

The flight was a bit more eventful, only because of Samuel's close proximity and his constant pawing and fondling. Not that Rafe minded. Hell, he much preferred this over the hours alone in seclusion. It was even nice, Sam kept trying to knead his shoulders but the tenderness of his surgical zones still put it off. Mostly, Sam was content of memorizing every new scar, new detail, new mark. That part made Rafe self-conscious. There was no turbulence on their flight-route, no storms. It went smoothly as Rafe could have hoped for, leaving his stressful little anxieties like crashing into the ocean to burn up in the wreckage or drown unfounded. Even the landing went smoother than he would have believed a heap of junk like this to land, still digging his fingers into Samuel's knee at the final lurching bump. Another hour drive at the most and they were in the parking lot of a rather impressive-looking and homey apartment building. The balconies were all decorated with flowers, as if the place had its own gardeners. As Nadine pushed his chair up through the front doors of the lobby, Sullivan driving off to leave them, Sam was already excitedly explaining the significance of the place.

"Yeah, I know it looks a bit much, but the place is pretty affordable and secure. There's a public pool in the basement, when you ever wanna take a dip. I moved right after I saw you last and you kinda gave me the blessing, more or less. Last place was small, little dank part of town, wasn't a good spot. But I got everything ready, and I think you'll like it."

It was the seventh floor they stopped at, Samuel withdrawing a set of keys from a pocket and unlocking the seventh apartment. _Of course. Sam's lucky number, seven. Wonder if that's just luck or if he asked for this one._ Nadine never said a word. Her grudge concerning the Drakes would not be easily swayed, if it could be at all. But Samuel never seemed to notice the tension emanating from her, still talking away. "Last place was noisy, neighbours had these little yappy dogs, never shut up. Walls were thin as paper, hardly helped for sound. I insisted on finding a place that was sound-proof, you know, less noise. Stupid shit lock, keys always get stuck. Hold on. There. Make yourselves at home."

 _Well. I'm impressed. You might have out-done yourself, Samuel. Very impressed. Makes me wonder how much money you managed to pull together for this._ Rafe found the place was very spacious, a plush tan carpet covering most the flooring except for the kitchen section. It looked, and smelled, very clean. Rafe doubted Sam even smoked inside. The walls were pure white, very blank, clearly he did not spend much time here or had no idea how to make the place his own. But the walls were hardly an issue, the view was far nicer with massive wall-height windows at regular intervals and tasteful curtains of pitch black. The furniture was sparse, but unmistaken to be new. The tags were still stuck on the couch's leather cushions. The kitchen appliances were new, stainless steel gleaming. The wheelchair was a bit stubborn on the soft surface but otherwise Nadine did not have much trouble maneuvering him inside. It was the apartment Nadine apparently had a problem with.

"The hell is this, Drake?" Nadine spat out, releasing the handles and tossing her hands up to gesture around the room. "Whose place is this? Whose keys did you swipe? This is so far from a joke, Drake, so damn far."

Immediately, Sam's own hands flew up in defense, open-palmed and surrendering. There was confusion in his eyes, when Rafe looked into them, he could not see they were being yanked around or fooled with. Samuel was being authentic. "Whoa! Easy, not a joke. I just signed the lease this week, might've needed some doctored papers but it is technically mine. I paid for it, that's for sure. Came furnished, so yeah, some of this shit isn't mine, but hey, still counts. Except for the bed, I bought that. And the bathroom renovations."

That seemed to bring about a less critical line of questioning, brows furrowing on Nadine's features, but no longer skeptical. She crossed her arms defensively again, moments before electing to steer Rafe down the hall to check out the bathroom. Once more, Rafe was very impressed with what he seen. There was a tub, but it was unique in construction whereas the walls were submerged into the floor, not an impossible barrier to scale over but a harmless slope inwards. A soaker tub. As well as a fitted shower, a seated fitted shower. The fact the renovations were actually completed without so much as a trace of plaster dust or messy paint application was another little surprise. The white tiles were polished, their reflections could almost be made out in the soft light. Other than those features, it was a bathroom. A well-fitted bathroom, but still enough to serve its purposes. Again, very spotless, not a sign of being lived in. Sam might have avoided staying just to leave it untouched for Rafe's arrival. Or worked his ass off cleaning, which Rafe doubted.

The bedroom, the final piece of the tour and the last requirement to Nadine's special expectations, came next. It was large, perhaps just as big as the rest of the apartment, also carpeted. The huge bed was an unmissable feature. It was a king size, plush by appearances with the fluffed duvet and mounds of pillows that were mostly display, but many looked functional as well. Rafe noticed his preferred side, the left side, had an apparatus of steel beside it, a retractable bar that a movement impaired patient might use to sit up with the use of their arms. That brought a soft frown to his face. Other than that, the room was yet another blank canvas. It was bare of décor, only the minimal requirements for living. _How long has he been preparing for this? This is… not what I would think looked like Sam's place. This doesn't look like Sam's. Maybe he can relax when I settle in, finally spruce this place up. Too bland. I hate it._

Almost proud of himself, Samuel extended both arms, waggling his fingers for a final judgement. Rafe could not help a small smirk at his enthusiasm. It was a long time since he saw Sam this excited about something and could feel the same, without wanting to smash his face in. "So?" Drake inquired hesitantly to the former army leader that called the shots so far. "What do you think? No roaches, no rats, no crummy buildings. Place is clean, uncluttered. Final passing grade?"

Rafe had to tilt his head back to look up at her, also curious if this place met her standards. It was good enough for him, so far. Better than a box on a street corner. Quirking a brow up at her, Rafe watched her amber eyes dart between their stares.

Scoffing at last in a final huffing exhale, Nadine Ross relaxed her shoulders and nodded softly, as reluctant as it was. "Fine, Drake. Passing grade. I'll admit, it is much nicer than I thought. I was worried Rafe might end up getting ill from a shady living situation."

"Hey," Sam interrupted indignantly. "You make it sound like I'm a complete slob. So, I can clean up a place if I put my mind to it. I got motivation now. But I'm not an idiot, I know he can get sick if the place is a shithole."

"Sitting right here, guys," Rafe murmured, unamused how people often spoke over him since his accident on The Fancy instead of to him. "Any other requirements, Nadine? Place has an elevator. Not like he'll be carrying me up and down stairs. I'll be okay."

Nadine was satisfied in her search of the premises, making a point to check the locks on the front door before she left and recommending another two deadbolts be installed. Excessive, maybe, but Rafe did not mind the suggestion in added safety measures. Although Samuel offered for her to crash there for the night, Ross was prickly when it came to the Drakes still. She was quick to make an excuse and leave, as Rafe predicted. But not before shaking Rafe's hand firmly in their goodbyes, an end to a mutual partnership that may have went sour near the end. He had to admit, he was a bit sad to see her go. She did save his life, after all. Maybe in more ways than one. _She did get me through that shit all in one piece, or… what I had left of me. Can hardly believe it. I almost killed her. And she saved my ass._

The train of thought was cut short when Samuel's chapped lips and rough stubble rasped up the back of his neck from the nape, ruffling into his hair. Rafe shivered, he could not help it, leaning back into the touch as Sam's arms encircled him tight. _Jesus, the door didn't even click shut and he's on me like a horny teenager. Now I know why he's so excited about this. Can't lie, after months of lying in bed, this sounds fun._

" _Ffffuck_ , I thought she'd never leave," Samuel growled into his throat, ravaging the spot with teeth and kisses. A soft gasp left Rafe then, no amount of biting his own lip could stop him. "I'm so thrilled you're here, baby. I thought I _lost_ you. Swimming out of The Fancy, I never thought you'd be alive back there, I'm so damn sorry. Fuck, it was two weeks straight I didn't sleep. I had no idea what happened. Nathan just said… you died. And I never wanted to believe it. I couldn't. Losing you? I couldn't fathom it."

A small smile graced Rafe's lips then, a real one instead of the fake or forced ones he had been using a lot lately. He felt his eyes begin to burn with gathering tears, but he would not let him fall. Not now. It would ruin a beautiful moment. As Samuel snuggled and nestled into him from behind, crouched over him like a protective bear, Rafe felt safe and happy for the first time in months. Sam loved him, even though neither of them knew what to call it yet. And Samuel Drake, his one-time enemy and former lover, was the only one that truly grieved for his possible loss of life. His own father did not care. It meant a lot to Rafe, just to hear that. _You big oaf. You've always been good to me. I never understood why. Maybe we have something. Just, please, don't make me regret this, Sam. I'm here now. Just make sure we stay safe, alright?_

That night, in the middle of their first love-making session, Rafe Adler realized this new injury would take some serious adjustment for them both. He was pinned to the mattress underneath Samuel's oppressively heavy weight, their usual fluidly-occurring flings now a clumsy and awkward experience. Sam actually had to manipulate his legs for him as they were dead weight and unable to respond as much as Rafe willed otherwise. He would have gave Avery's wealth over again just to feel his own toes. But now he might as well be an observer to his lower limbs. They were utterly slack, Sam wrapped them around his waist and had to hold them there during the feverish rutting. Rafe tried not to think about how humiliating it felt to be positioned like a doll but what choice was there? He was still getting used to the idea of paralysis, let alone the solid reality. Hugging Sam's neck as he buried his face into his bulky shoulder, Rafe was actually having to _fake_ his grunts and groans. It was something utterly new to him. He hated to admit the spoiled shit he pretty much was before all this mess, but if whatever sexual stuff he was doing with whomever was not working for him, Rafe would simply call an end to it. No point in the wasted energy. Just find someone else to get his motor running if his current partner was not up to par. Samuel Drake _always_ used to get his motor running high, some strange unspoken magnetism that drew them to each other from the start but now was a drastic shift. Drake was relentless in his thrusts, but for the first time in his life, Rafe was numbed to it all. There was only the vaguest, fuzziest pressure in his abdomen, as far as his damaged spine reached. It came and went, but it hardly resembled the excruciating stimulation he was used to and now hungrily craved. And while Samuel's stamina before was a blessing and a work-out, now it was a mild annoyance.

 _Shit. I should have known this is what it would be like. Fucking **shit** , just my luck. I guess this is my punishment. Never used to believe in a higher power before. This is what I get for being an asshole all these years. All the fucking religious icons in this stupid treasure hunt, the saint, you would think I would have noticed. Maybe the treasure was cursed. By God. As if. _Almost rolling his eyes to himself in his mental inner-monologue, Rafe remained clinging to Samuel's neck and shoulders, praying Drake would finally finish and get tired. Rafe knew he was tired… And sleeping in a real bed for the first time in months instead of that hospital slab they called a bed, it was a small blessing in itself. But that was between Sam fucking him into the mattress relentlessly. How the hell could he enjoy sex if he cannot feel a damn thing? _Fuck, of course. This is how it is going to end between us. Intimacy issues. Great. Rafe fucking Adler can't keep a boyfriend happy. I might need to bust out the tricks. Right now, I just need to get through this without dozing off._

"Baby, you alright?" Sam breathed headily into his chest, concerned hazel-brown eyes glancing up at him. Rafe had to stop from wincing, but a faint flush reddened his skin, he could feel it warm his face. "You're just… quiet."

 _Oh, now I see why he wanted sound-proof walls. Fucking pervert. Sorry, Sam ol' boy, your thick meaty one doesn't fix a broken back. _Rafe had to glance down to see that they were still very much connected, Sam was still deep inside him and now unmoving. _Are you kidding me? Nothing right now? Nothing? Fuuuuck. Now what am I going to do? How am I going to explain this without killing the mood? _Embarrassed, Rafe had to shift his glance up to the ceiling for a split second, to center himself. "Sam, _don't_ get upset," he tried to say, but it only came out as a small whisper.

The look of concern intensified. Sam snuggled in closer, letting Rafe's unresponsive legs go and embracing the smaller man in a constant, tight hug. "You're _hurt_? I'm not hurting you, am I? _Shit_ , I'm sorry baby, I should have been gentle…"

 _No, you idiot, I'm not concerned about the fact you didn't bother with the lube. Use that brain of yours._ With another sigh, Rafe had to try and force himself to meet Sam's gaze. He knew if he ducked eye-contact now, Sam would assume he was lying. "That's not it, you dope. Sam. I can't feel my legs. I can't feel my ass go numb in a chair. I'm… I guess I'm trying to say I can't feel this. Nothing below the navel works, hon."

The realization came strong into Sam's eyes, along with a bashful sort of shame that Rafe never thought he would see the elder Drake have on his face. He looked like he not only fucked up, but knew it and felt guilty. Rafe knew he immediately hated that look. It was not right there on Sam's worn yet animated features. " _Goddamn_. I guess I should have knew that. That was stupid on my part. Like… nothing? Not even this?" One of Sam's hands disappeared under the covers much to Rafe's annoyance. This went the opposite of how he hoped. The last thing he wanted to do was play experiment. He just wanted to sleep. Sam's eyebrows raised questioningly, a silent request.

" _Fuck_ , Sam, **no** , I can't feel anything," Rafe only growled, exasperated at having to explain what a spinal fracture could do to one's physiology. He had no idea what disabled people did for sex lives. He never needed to ask, but **now** he wished he was curious. "What are you doing anyway?"

A devilish glint in those hazel eyes, one he come to know well. Sam's weathered lips that tasted like nicotine curled into a smirk. "Nothing, baby. Just what we used to do in the tents in Scotland."

 _Oh, you sick pervert. Of course you'd do that now, when I can't kick you off._ The memory came unbidden, Scotland was forever associated with a sore ass and the Drakes screwing him in more than one way in separate times. Samuel was the only one of the pair he cared to know this way, on their search for the treasure after Rafe busted Sam from the Panamanian prison, they scoured Scotland once. Nothing came of it in the search, but Samuel took the opportunity to try new things, one of which that Rafe nearly cussed him out bellowing in front of the whole camp. During one of their mutual ruts in their sleeping bags, one of Sam's hands disappeared under the covers like they did now. Only instead of just Samuel's raging hard member, Rafe had to bite back a scream at a second invasion. One of Sam's calloused, rough fingers. The asshole. Never gave him a warning, just tried to slip it in alongside himself. It did not go along well. _This jerk thought it was funny, though. It fucking hurt like a sonnavabitch and he thought it was the funniest thing. Bastard. I should slip a finger in him dry, see how he likes it._

But Rafe had to stuff the memory down, only glaring up at Sam on top of him. "Not funny, Samuel. I'm serious. I can't feel a thing. No point in trying to provoke a reaction."

The disappointment settled in over Sam's good mood without much warning, enough that Rafe regretted his snippy attitude. Both hands surfaced again, unoccupied and simply groping for his bare exposed chest streaked with new surgical scars. Tough thumb-tips settled over Rafe's nipples and bore down, and the touch was like electricity surging through his neural system. A weak, shocked gasp left Rafe then, skull pressing backwards into the plush, down pillow. But Sam refused to let up, possessively grinding his thumbs down into the sensitive mounds. It was enough to encourage an excited squeal from him, as much as he tried to fight it down. _Holy fuck. What was that? This used to drive me nuts before, but not like this._ Breathless, Rafe swept one of his own hands back through his sweaty locks, watching Samuel grin with his smug little smirk. "Okay. What the fuck was that," Samuel asked almost teasingly, daring another teasing flick.

It brought another squirm from Rafe, mewling underneath him. " _Shiiit_ , I have no idea… The **hell** did you do to me?"

Samuel buried his face into Rafe's exposed throat, his raspy beard scratching over his sensitive skin and bringing helpless shudders from him easily. It would not take much more, at this point. They both knew it without having to confirm a word. Sam chuckled, the sound and vibration rattling Rafe to his very core and making him grit his teeth to forbid a desperate whine. "Magic, I guess," Sam rasped into his neck. "You feel like you came alive… You won't believe it, but you got a full chub right now."

"For real?" Rafe asked, immediately curious. A quick glance down confirmed it. Rafe's own cock was full erect, weeping pre-cum already much to his disbelief. _Well, I'll be damned. Can't feel a damn thing, but looks like it's far from dead. Huh. Weird. Must be a physiological thing._ Rafe's eyebrows raised faintly, hardly believing it, but seeing it nonetheless. At least Sam would not get bored of him, his body still responded without him knowing. "This is so fucking weird, Samuel, you have no idea."

Samuel laughed much more heavily, almost snorting between the giggles, enough for Rafe to shakily grin himself despite the slight embarrassment in this new experience. He was glad his 'first' time since his accident was with Samuel Drake, he was not sure how he could be comfortable with being intimate with anyone ever again just weeks before. Rafe, apparently, came first. He did not feel it actually happening, just the strange blitz of ecstasy and orgasmic pleasure without a focal point, when previously all he could concentrate on was his cock. Apparently, an orgasm was a full-body thing? Or, from what Rafe could feel. Sam finished right after, like spurring Rafe into an unpredicted orgasm was enough to throttle his control over that cliff. When it was finally done, Rafe lay underneath Sam's sweaty, hot bulk weighing him down into the soft mattress, listening to each other's breathing mingled together in the stillness. When Sam finally rolled off him, enough for him to feel like he could breathe, the elder Drake refused to leave him alone completely. One arm slung over Rafe's hip, he nestled into Rafe's shoulder from his position as the big spoon. It was a familiar position between them, their usual arrangement.

"Rafe. I love you, you know that?" Sam murmured at last, his voice sleepy and on the verge of drifting, that often giddy nonsense talk that Samuel would not remember in the morning. Or pretend not to remember. "I… felt lost without you, coming back from Libertalia. I had my brother, yeah… But I missed you. I hated what this shit done to us. It turned us against each other, baby. But it's over, you're here, and nothing else matters now."

Listening quietly, Rafe could only wince as he reflected on how he treated Sam in the past. He was downright cruel near the end, nearly killing Nathan in front of him out of sheer spite after breaking his nose on the cliff. And why? It all seemed so petty now. So stupid. It ended up costing him everything. _I lost my family name, my money, my pride, my fucking body… And yet, after it all is over, I'm here. I'm here with Sam. This doesn't feel real. Why would he do this for me? I treated him like one of Nadine's goons. I treated him worse._

"Sam?" Rafe whispered out, knowing Samuel was going to drift off to sleep any minute now. He had to get it off his chest now before he forgot come morning. "I know you'll look after me… but did you ever hate me for what I did? To you? To Nathan?"

There was an extended silence, gentle breathing only whistling in his ear, Rafe thought for a moment that Sam fell asleep. But then the grip on his waist tightened enough to pull him closer, startling him a moment. "I don't think so, baby. I don't think I ever did for a moment. I got why. Hell, it was Avery's treasure. Any explorer worth their salt wanted that. But… I don't think I hated you. I couldn't. Not after everything. Go to sleep, Rafe. You're home now."

Hot tears came unbidden then, Rafe refused to let so much as a hiccup or sob pass but the tears flowed regardless of his efforts. He pawed them away before Sam could reach out and touch them himself. _Home. I don't feel at home here, Sam. I don't get it. Why are you so devoted? Why do you love me even though I've done nothing but try and hurt you? Hell, I tried to fucking kill you. That's not healthy. But I love you, Sam. I don't know why, but I love you and I hope you won't abandon me._

* * *

It was some point during the night that week Rafe Adler woke abruptly, pretty unusual considering he often slept fairly well when Sam was close by. But it seems tonight that was very much the problem. Samuel Drake used to have a habit of sleeping like a rock, sometimes unmoving throughout the night. But lately? Not the case. Sam had a tendency for nightmares. He never talked about it much, he was quick to change the subject but Rafe had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with his stint in Panama. While Rafe hated his stay in Panama, he could not imagine thirteen years of that hell.

Squinting at the alarm clock that glowed a gentle blue instead of the typical blinding, abrasive red, he could feel his heart drop. _2 AM? Are you kidding? Jesus, Sam, usually you try to keep it to the early morning like 6 or 5. We only just got to sleep!_ Turning over onto his side to face his partner, Rafe was scowling but found the harsh expression dropped off his features when he noticed Sam's distress.

Samuel Drake's eyes danced back and forth underneath closed eyelids, his once calm breathing now a hyperactive pant that occasionally trailed into weak grumbles and groans. Curled on his side facing Rafe, his usually relaxed sprawled posture was curled and trembling, a tremor that vibrated the whole mattress and stirred Rafe from his sleep. His skin was clammy, the sheets were soaked and drenching Rafe's side a bit. It was enough to make him wrinkle his nose in faint disgust, the musky scent lingering thick in the air. Sam rarely stunk like this, but there were times Rafe felt he might barf from the smell alone. Luckily, it was not one of those times. Instead, Rafe felt concern. _The hell is upsetting him? I hope… I hope Panama wasn't that bad. Christ, I know what men do to each other when there are no women, the three of us stuck together to stop us from becoming prey. What happened to him when we escaped? I saw him get shot. I saw him spit blood, smile and pass out. And fall. I lost track of what happened after that until maybe a decade later._

"… Hey… Sam," Rafe whispered, a bit reluctant to wake him but not wanting him to endure possibly a horrible recollection. "Samuel… wake up."

No response, Sam's nostrils flared in a deep inhale but otherwise remained locked in that nightmare. On closer inspection, Sam's wild hair was not caused just by the pillow but matted with sweat.

 _Alright, enough of that mess. Come on, Samuel, wake up, don't make me stick a finger in your ass to get you up._ Cautiously, Rafe's hand reached out to smooth loose tangles from Sam's forehead, thumb gently rubbing against the bridge of Sam's nose. "Come on, babe… Wake up."

Another deep inhale, but this time eyelids flashed open, half-conscious blurry eyes staring back in the dark. Rafe felt immediate relief, feeling himself squirm a bit closer to Sam's position. "Hey, baby," Sam mumbled sleepily, pawing at his dazed eyes and yawning. "What's wrong?"

"What's _wrong_? You were dreaming," Rafe nearly snapped, but his voice still hushed to a whisper. "Samuel, you were having a nightmare, like before. When we used to share a bed before Libertalia. You going to finally tell me what's keeping me awake at night and robbing me of beauty sleep?"

A faint bashful flush but Samuel maintained eye-contact without shame this time. Maybe after what happened on The Fancy, Sam was finally ready to be fully honest, in perspective of Rafe's mortality and his own. To confirm his thoughts, Sam's arm dipped under the covers, cupping at his waist just where the sensation began and ended, reaching around to graze a fingertip along the scar running along his spine. "Secret for a secret?" Sam whispered out, eyebrows quirking.

 _What kind of secret does he really want to know out of me? He knows basically everything about me. He's the one with secrets. _Rafe dignified him a smug little smirk, soothed by the gentle caress of his lover. "And tell me, what does the great Samuel Drake not know about me?"

"… You still happy with me?" Sam asked a bit louder, still tracing the ridges of the deep surgical scar. "You… were different tonight, like every time we make love now. I knew things were gonna be different, I'm not an idiot, but you're not yourself."

The question was almost offensive, it was too absurd. Rafe glared at him from his pillow, actually jabbing a punch at Sam's chest. It caught Samuel square in the sternum, looking bewildered and perplexed but mostly amused as he clutched the sore spot. "Uh, **ow**?!" Sam whined aloud, the hushed tones of their voices forgotten. "The hell, baby? What'd I do?"

"Asking dumb shit you already know the answer to, you **dumbass** ," Rafe nearly hissed. He could not help the hot blush on his own face, angry. "You know I'm still happy with you, Sam. You think I let anyone whisk me away from a hospital into their bed? Get real. You know I'm happy. If I wasn't you sure as hell would know that too. I wouldn't exactly leave it unsaid. You know I love you, Sam. You need me to say it, fine. But I'm not the type to keep saying it over and over just to assure your insecurities."

"My ' _insecurities'_?" Sam repeated with an amused grin, pleased to hear the words he was looking for but not sure how to take the criticism. "Baby, I'm so far from insecure, it's in another league. But you have to admit, you close yourself right off these days."

"Alright, _fine_. You'd be too if you broke your back and spent months in a different kind of solitary," Rafe replied snippily, not deterred in his original mission. "My turn. The nightmare, Sam. Stop ducking it. What is it?"

The amused fun vanished from Sam's expression, replaced by a solemn and somber stillness. It chilled Rafe to see it. "You remember that cover story I told Nathan, before you shot me on the cliff? The riot we used as opportunity to escape?"

"The story with that old Alcazar fuck. Can't believe you managed to pull that on him," Rafe murmured. He supposed it was easier to make up a fantastic story than to reveal the truth. That he was free for two years already and to meet his brother when he was truly needed. "I'm still mad about you **bailing** on me in the hunt. But, yeah, I remember. A riot?"

This time, Sam nodded. "Yeah. A riot. Maybe about six years in? I still get nightmares about it… I was real lucky, considering how much of a target I was as the gringo that was responsible for the death of the last warden. People just… went _wild_. I was in an individual cell, all the locks got sawed or busted or unlocked eventually by the prisoners. I just laid low, but… I saw some shit. Heard a lot worse. It stays with you, Rafe."

A morbid curiosity was driving Rafe to ask what. He had to know what would haunt someone as ruthless in combat as Samuel Drake in his sleep. "Tell me," he insisted. "You're not going to infect me with your nightmares."

"… It was _bad_ ," Sam simply started, someone as articulate as himself rendered down to such a mild vocabulary through the trauma of it. "There was a body count of maybe sixty for prisoners, twenty for guards? Jesus, I don't know if it was planned or something that just got out of hand in a hurry, but it was just a regular lunch hour. Serving line. I heard this ruckus, loud, saw these guys rush the guards with shivs. Then they got the guns. It was that quick. Most of us went back to our cells like the remaining guards wanted. Closed all our cells, but the riot got out of control and they busted us out anyway. You know, I never knew the smell of a human being cooking could smell like a barbeque? I didn't get to eat that day, but… I was drooling from the smell before I realized what it was. Then I got sick. And there was so much damn blood. It was everywhere. Not a single spot on the floor, it was basically flooding the halls. I don't know why… the gangs just turned on each other. If it was orders or a planned attack or some beef out of hand, they just started gutting each other. Or the violent types without gangs? They went after the weak. The kiddie diddlers, the rapists, the abusive husbands and boyfriends. They stole a fire axe. There were pieces of these men everywhere, Rafe. They were kicking the heads in the yard like a fuckin' soccer game… The sounds. Those were the worst. You can hear them begging as they were lined up for the slaughter. The screams. Christ. The smells…

"It lasted maybe two days. Not long for riot standards, long enough to make a fuckin' mess of things and rack up a body count. It took months for clean-up. We had to. The prisoners had to fuckin' clean up the blood and guts and body parts. All the bleach in the world could not get rid of that fuckin' smell. And even the day I left, there's still scars of that riot. The axe left marks in the cement floor from the dismembering of the rapists on the high-risk-prisoner wing. The ones too vulnerable to defend themselves. The fire charred much of the hospital wing. They moved it to another empty building. I'm sorry, Rafe, I didn't want to tell you this shit."

Rafe frowned gently. He could not imagine the horror Samuel endured in those days, completely alone when he should have had two allies at his back normally. It was deeply sad. He only wished he discovered Samuel had survived much sooner than a decade later. He felt guilty. "… I'm _sorry_ , Sam."

"For what, baby?" Sam murmured sleepily, nuzzling into his partner's shoulder and neck as he snuggled close in getting the monkey off his back. "You didn't cause it."

"… I should have got you out…" Rafe whispered softly. "… You were shot, it was **my** damn fault. If I didn't butt in front of everyone to get to the top sooner, you wouldn't have been shot. It would have been me. Like it should have been. And if that wasn't bad enough, I abandoned you. I left you behind, and I convinced Nathan to come when he wasn't ready to leave you. I'm… so **sorry** I made you suffer. I should have got you out sooner… I should have checked after the fucking escape. Why didn't I? I was sure you were dead… I mourned you, in my own way. But I selfishly went on my way for thirteen fucking years, Sam. And then, it took forever for bribe the new warden, he could never agree to the terms. I should have went higher. I'm a damn fool, Sam. And you suffered for it."

"Baby, stop," Sam hushed, scattering soft kisses along his forehead and nose. "You had no fuckin' way of knowing. I would have thought I was dead too. And hey, I learned quite a bit of shit while in there. But you can't blame yourself for it. I'm here now. So are you. And I wouldn't have got out at all without you, I would have spent my whole damn life in there with my luck. Just go to sleep, baby. Sorry for waking you."


	4. Chapter 4

"Just don't drop me! I don't want to drown!"

"You? Drown? That'll be a stretch, don't you think?"

"Shut up, just don't let go," Rafe growled out, clinging to Sam's neck and chest with both arms. He usually felt so at home in the water, he swam from the point he was a toddler. But this time, he was petrified of his dead legs weighing him down, the lack of stamina in his arms unable to keep him afloat. He just had the image of sinking and helpless to stop it, a fear he never had before. Rafe was confident enough to swim circles around Samuel months before this mess. That was when his legs were toned and powerful, to propel him along almost effortlessly. He might as well have had a new body altogether. "Sam, seriously, anyone shows up at all, get us out."

Not ten minutes before, Samuel proposed they give the indoor pool a try since Rafe adored swimming in the past. When Rafe agreed, he was startled when Sam scooped him up and immediately went for the door, he pitched an ever-loving fit. **Hell** **no**. There were standards to abide by. So much to Sam's reluctance, they had to change into swim-trunks, or really, Sam had to find a spare pair for Rafe and had to tie them tight to fit. On top of that, they needed towels. And still remarkably self-conscious, an alien and new little fear Rafe acquired since The Fancy, he insisted on wearing a bathrobe at being wheeled down to the basement pool. No one was using it, further strengthening Sam's resolve to get Rafe in there. They were not allowed to lock the door, but Rafe was not a fan of being watched anymore. It was hard to be proud of the shrivelled, damaged husk of what used to be something strong and to be envied. The water would do wonders for his physical well-being, but that was only if he got comfortable. He had to get over the fear of sinking. Samuel was not even treading water, he was standing and the level barely rose to his chest but Rafe refused to go any deeper. Too terrifying.

 _Why am I so freaked out? I used to love this. I can't remember a damn thing from The Fancy after the fight. I just remember waking up in hospital. Not much else. Flashes, maybe._ But Rafe could not ignore the clutching, ice-cold fear that went for his heart, dropping into the pit of his stomach. Rafe did not remember nearly drowning, but he knew it must have happened. How else? Nadine explained briefly what occurred to fill in the blanks, but he was not breathing after being submerged for some time. He was thankful he could not remember that part. His fingers just tightened into Sam's shoulders, cringing as he whipped his head back to look for the edge of the pool. _Shit. This is too far. Sam, please don't move._

" ** _Jesus_** , Rafe, you planning of skinning me? Ease off a bit," Sam nearly hissed in discomfort, rolling his shoulders at the squeeze. Rafe had to relax an inch, if it meant to get him to stop whining. "What's the matter with you? I got you, relax baby. I'm not going to _dunk_ you, settle down."

That last statement earned Samuel a glare, which he could not help return a guilty grin. "You better not," Rafe snarled softly, trying to ease his hyperactive breathing back to a normal rhythm. "I don't know what's wrong… I'm freaked out, okay? Just don't let go."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

It would have been nice to stay like that, undisturbed and simply enjoying each other's company but Rafe's days of private pools and beaches were over. It could not have been more than twenty minutes at the most, maybe more or less, when the doors to the pool area rattled open enough to jar Rafe's relaxed grip to nearly knuckle-whiten-clamping onto Sam's shoulders enough to elicit a yelp. Jolting out of his skin, Rafe felt his anxiety heighten quite dramatically as his blue-brown mixed eyes fixed on the one that disturbed them. _No. Jesus, why here? Why can't he just leave me alone?_

Nathan Drake himself stood there, certainly looking leagues better than Rafe after their conflict, hardly a noticeable scar as they were all subtly concealed. The shock was mutual. Speechless, neither man said a thing until Sam finally noticed the reason for Rafe's tense posture, his little brother, a goofy grin now gracing his lined features in recognition. "Hey, little brother! Come on in for a dip, water's great."

Rafe had to stop himself from tightening his grip on Sam's already-gouged shoulders. It was all the warning he would need to do, but it would have been obvious. _Sam, you watch your big mouth. He gets in here, I'm drowning him. Brother or not, he's the reason why you need to hold me here to stop from drowning._ There was a faint swell of hatred, but most his rage had burned low when it came to the Drakes. If he was going to reside with the elder brother, it only made sense he would need to deal with the youngest on occasion. He just hoped it was later rather than now.

There was just enough tension to be read, however, because Nathan's usual antics were not taken as an action especially as far as Sam is concerned, his feet remained glued to the entrance, not budging. He was clearly hesitant. The wheelchair's presence at the edge of the pool was also enough of a jarring sight, a kick in the nuts of reality, with their towels draped over the back handles. Other than the faint scar on his forehead where the cliff-face met his head, the younger Drake clearly came away the victor. Conflict came over Nathan's blue-green eyes, a sharp contrast to his brother's warm hazel. But there was an apologetic smirk there, trying to defuse the tension. "There you are, you two," Nathan called out to them, arms crossing as if to be disappointed but Rafe honestly could care less. "Elena and I thought it would have been great to stop in for dinner, a little house-warming. You left your place unlocked, figured you didn't go too far."

"Elena too? Oh, good, more the merrier," Sam crowed happily, clearly proud of his new place of residence. Rafe almost cringed faintly, his volume and enthusiasm a little tough to swallow when he felt the opposite. "Where is she? Invite her down, let's all get in here."

 _Oh, absolutely not, Samuel, get me out. Now. _Rafe knew one thing, he had to hide his body right now. The horrible network of surgical scars and pink tissue was disfiguring, his wasted lower body so frail. Anxiously pawing at Samuel's neck, Rafe was quick to draw his attention when he demanded it, those concerned eyes flashing down to his immediately. He knew one thing. Rafe was not the same man he was on The Fancy. Nathan, however, was unchanged. Just like that, the Drakes always came out on top. The resentment throbbed again, catching Rafe a bit by surprise at how strongly it surged. _Don't look at me like that. You know what he did. Get me out._

"What's wrong, Rafe?" Sam asked softly, voice lowered than the previous joyous tone that rang out. "You just got real pale there, looked like you might faint."

"Get me out," Rafe found himself muttering aloud, a repetition of a desperate thought he never meant to repeat. But once it was out, he found the plea just accumulating. "Sam, I want out. Cold." _Come on. I need you to start protecting me here, like you damn-well promised me. You don't see him as a threat, but I sure as hell do. He tried to drown me once. I won't let you allow him to finish it._ The thought came deliriously, without reason, knowing it could not come true but fearing the outcome nonetheless. It just scared him. He felt deeply defenseless there, almost naked and being supported to stop from inhaling water.

Samuel never needed much prodding when it came to Rafe. Immediately worried, there was a shift to carry Rafe as he would on land, before slowly walking up the incline towards their belongings. Convincingly he hoped, Rafe shuddered against Sam's chest, both arms wrapped around the bigger man's neck and head turned away from Nathan. He had to mentally prepare himself for the next interaction, for however long it could go. "Alright, baby, hold on," Sam whispered, knowing how Rafe was with pet-names in public. No one said a word as Sam lowered Rafe into the wheelchair and wrapped the towel around him protectively, but Rafe insisted on the housecoat again. It took some added fussing, but at last, Rafe felt shielded, like the younger Drake was not able to look over his own handiwork. "There," Samuel sighed at last, turning to face his brother with a short but tight embrace. "You look good, you little punk, how long has it been?"

"'Bout a month, give or take?" Nathan confirmed with a grin, glancing over the pool. "Living large, I see. Quite the change from Panama, isn't it?"

"You have no idea how much I missed something dumb like this," Sam almost laughed, chatty as always once reunited with his sibling. Rafe felt another weak pang of ill emotion, this one envy. As an only child, he never got to experience the comradery of a sibling, the friendship it enabled. It would have been nice. But it was hard to feel bitter about that, listening to Sam happily talk away. "Can't believe it. What a change, going from a concrete cell to this. Feel like a king. Sure, gotta smoke on the balcony, strict no smoking indoors thing, but Rafe doesn't mind that part."

 _Oh, we're going to acknowledge me now? Lovely._ Rafe only gave a non-committal and ill-mannered grunt, not quite in the mood for conversation with the one that maimed him for life. There was one thing Rafe overlooked in his bunking with Samuel, it was the fact that Nathan Drake knew his brother was alive and well now. That meant they would be dealing with each other. _The one fucking over-sight. Why didn't I think of that sooner? Hell, maybe I should have made Sam move away from this fucking place. But that's probably why he picked this place. Closer to his family. Fuck._

If there was one thing Nathan Drake shared with his brother, it was the open-book expressions and often animated emotional output. And there was no hiding the sympathetic and pained wince from the younger Drake as he looked down on his former enemy. It was enough to make Rafe want to puke. As Rafe hunched himself down into the housecoat and underneath the towel to try and warm himself, he allowed himself to stare defiantly back. There was no dropping glances now. There was no hiding the reality of their decisions.

"Hey, Rafe," Nathan tried to say casually, but the pitying tones kept bleeding into it enough for Rafe to harden his glare. The way Nathan was trying to open his posture, to stop from crossing his arms and deflect, it was too much for Rafe to physically handle. "I heard you pulled through. How are you holding up?"

Disgusted by the sheer audacity of it, Rafe had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from spewing hateful venom and curses. It took every ounce of self-discipline he was able to hone through the years. Rather than explode, Rafe compartmentalized. He would have time later to rage. Fighting to keep his voice a calm, collected tone, he simply spoke quietly, unlike his former gusto and charisma. "Yeah, pulled through, seems Nadine had to rescue me instead of the good guy Drakes. But tell me, how do you _think_ I'm holding up right now?"

The stunned silence that fell over the brothers spoke volumes alone. Rafe had to stop himself from grinning from the satisfaction of it, keeping his face a blank mask of impersonal stare. _Shocked you both? **Good**. Hope you both can choke on that. Because I've been dwelling on this shit for weeks while you two could keep going about your happy fucking lives. _

There was a soft touch on the back of his neck, Samuel's calloused hand gently cupping the spot. The nature was affectionate, it was something that Rafe wanted to squirm out from under, but he simply continued to glare up at Nathan from his chair, his now permanent position. " _Hey_ ," Sam cooed out, feeling the quivering tension there. "Rafe, calm down, okay? Actually, he's doing a lot better, Nathan. He's got some physio ahead, but overall, he's almost made it through the whole thing. I didn't see how bad it was at the beginning, but the medical charts were plain enough. A fuckin' miracle he's here."

 _Jesus, Samuel, keep it in your fucking pants. Look at me, I hardly call this a miracle. I'm a mess._ Not wishing to dignify another response, Rafe kept silent. What he said was blunt and shocking enough. He made Nathan very aware how he felt about the situation that was all he wanted to do. As long as Nathan knew it was his actions that physically crippled him and shattered his image, then so be it. _I hope the guilt makes him quit this job. I hope he spends the rest of his miserable fucking life unassuming and dull. A nobody._

"No shit," Nathan murmured mostly to himself at his point, the distant sadness in those aquamarine eyes a victory in Rafe's mind. Hell, he'd take as much as he could get. "Come on, you two. Guess you forgot about our dinner date tonight? Pizza's getting cold."

 _Dinner date? Samuel, you asshole._ Rafe whipped his head backwards to glare up at Sam as his wheelchair was now being steered towards the direction of the elevator. Sam gave him a guilty little grimace, still smiling as Nathan's back turned to them to open the doors for the chair. "Shit, I guess it did slip my mind," Samuel replied easily, despite the glare he received. "You guys weren't waiting too long, I hope?"

"Not long, no. But the door wasn't locked, we figured you were still nearby."

The couple hours or so it took for them to eat was more than Rafe could stand. He was formally introduced to Elena Fischer that despite the marriage to the younger Drake, kept her maiden name. Rafe never asked why. Hell, he rarely spoke unless absolutely necessary in front of people he simply did not know. That was untrue, he did know Nathan Drake from his dealings in the past, but neither were clearly willing to let go of what occurred. He only knew of Elena through his research, and that she was essentially attached to the younger Drake at the hip. Most times. Their recent rough patch was not forgotten, Rafe heard mentions of a huge fight around the time of the Avery hunt but it was still a touchy subject, neither married party wanted to disclose much. But otherwise, with the beer flowing between the Drake boys, Elena curiously sticking with water, the trio were happy talking amongst themselves. Rafe knew he was a figurative fifth wheel. He was that awkward silent individual that did not fit with the others at a get-together. But overall, he was glad they carried among themselves without him. He preferred that over the pitying stares at the wheelchair handles jutting from his backrest, the only difference among the seated group. Sam was the only one that met his gaze readily, without it jumping to the **_fucking_** wheelchair or the new scars littering his face. He looked past them, as cliché as it sounded. But it was when Rafe knew he was feeling weary and the evening growing late when the conversations were tapering off, yawns breaking out over the pauses.

"Well, shit, didn't think we'd be here until ten," Nathan suddenly spoke up after a glance to his watch, stretching as he stood. Rafe watched with a faint tinge of envy again. "Sorry, Sammy. Took up your whole night with your new guest."

"Roommate, now," Samuel insisted, a knowing look shooting to Rafe's direction that he returned with a subtle frown. "It's official. Rafe's staying."

 _Watch your mouth, fucker. Last thing I want them to know is what the hell I'm really doing here. _Elena politely clapped, but Nathan did not know exactly how to handle the news immediately. Taking the hint from his wife, he hesitantly clapped along as well. Idly swirling the remaining sips in his wine glass, Rafe only tipped it upwards quietly to acknowledge their rather false applause. He knew all too well what they thought of him.

"Oh! Nate, before we go, we have news as well," Elena chirped, the bubbly excited demeanor back. There was something barely contained held in check carefully now, perhaps out of simple courtesy.

"Oh?" Sam inquired, eyebrow raised. "Do tell. What's the news? Victor finally get you the dog?"

That brought a more natural grin from the younger Drake, the excitement clearly contagious. Nathan was less able to control his unbridled anticipation, that stupid Drake smile Sam almost wore identically enough for Rafe to purposely glance away to the window. He would rather stare off into nothing than listen to the dull going-ons of a married couple. But Nathan's voice cut through his tired daze like a hot knife.

"Better. Elena's pregnant. We're expecting."

Rafe's heart dropped, plummeting straight down into the lowest pits of his abdomen, his fingers tightening around the curve of the glass. _No. No fucking way. Of course. Of course, this just is **how** it fucking has to be. Nathan won. He's the victor, alright. He wins in every fucking way possible. I **lost** my goddamn **family**. And he only **gained** one?! _

"No shit?!" Sam exclaimed, clearly pleased about the news and thrilled for the pair. "Holy goddamn shit, I'm going to be an uncle."

"Hey, you better not be using language like that in front of the baby," Nathan protested half-heartedly, but mirroring his brother's grin all the same. "Just found out last week. Still too soon to say if it's a boy or girl, but we're already fighting over names."

"I'm telling you," Elena insisted, "Marco Polo Drake? That's **not** our baby's name. Over my dead body."

"Aw come on," Nathan whined. "You'll warm up to it. Think about how fun it'll be!"

The musical tingle of breaking glass crunching was enough to shock the trio into silence, all three sets of eyes turning to Rafe's direction. His clenched fist clutching shards was wet, but from wine or blood, he did not look to see. He did not want to acknowledge a damn thing. Not when he had a maelstrom of anxiety and rage and disgust whirling inside himself and he had no real means to release it. His first instinct was to hurl the glass through the window, to break as much as he could in one swift move. But in fighting that urge, he squeezed too hard. All three sets of eyes were flitting between him and the glass, a range of emotions to be plucked among them, confusion, pity, sadness, worry, but most of all that dumb fucking perplexed stare that made him wish to storm off. He was getting better with steering his own wheelchair on a flat surface, but the carpets made things difficult. With his hand possibly bleeding, it might prove harder.

Finally, Samuel broke the silence, the only one with the courage to speak to the disgruntled party. "Rafe? Jesus, baby, your hand."

 _Sam, you dumb fucking **asshole** , what did I say about the goddamn names?!_ Rafe was gritting his teeth, purposely staring down at the table cloth slowly staining under his wrist instead of the **more** bewildered looks he was getting.

" _Baby_?" Nathan echoed questioningly, almost gawking at his brother, his good news forgotten. "Sam, what the **hell** — _oof_ …" His almost betrayed expression was interrupted with pain, cringing as he reached under the table for his shin that was just booted. Elena, the source no doubt, glared daggers at her spouse to threaten silence. Nathan, however, seemed to enjoy opening his big mouth to get into arguments. "Elena, you don't **_get_** it, we known him **years** —"

" _And_? I've known you years," his wife spat softly, taking another sip of water. "Look where we are now."

"He tried to kill us—"

" _Nathan_ ," Sam already sighed, as if trying to explain himself. "It was bound to come out sooner or fuckin' later—"

Rafe could not take it anymore. He was sick of people talking over him, sick of the reality he was facing every morning when he woke up. Dropping the blood-smeared remainders of the wine-glass onto the stained table cloth, Rafe's uninjured hand went to the wheel-rim, the handles to turn them. "May I be excused? I … should clean myself up," Rafe growled quietly, mostly staring at Samuel at this point. He did not need permission from the other two, he owed them nothing.

Samuel's hopeful glow in his eyes seemed to drop and die out. Rafe hated when he saw that, but right now, he honestly was out of fucks to give. "Rafe, you're not a prisoner here. You live here too," Sam reasoned calmly. "You don't need to ask me to do anything."

 _Good. Fuck you too._ Rafe immediately seized the wheel-rim and meant to turn the chair but his cut hand beginning to sting and he held it to his chest, there was not enough strength and traction to physically move on the plush carpet. Frustration building, Rafe was trying to jerk his weight forward to encourage the chair to move but all he was doing was just struggling quite terrifically one-armed. Face burning with humiliation, he snarled and hissed curses, wrenching his frail arm harder. "Fuck, _come_ _on_ , you stupid bitch…."

"I got you," Sam spoke out, rising up out of his seat and going to Rafe immediately, voice lowering gently to whisper calmly down to him as he leaned forward during their push to the bathroom. "Rafe, what did you do? Your hand, Christ, you might need stitches. Do you need me in there?"

 _That is the last fucking thing I need right now, I just need you to leave me the fuck alone, go with your perfect fucking family. Leave me alone. I can do this myself. _Hateful emotions were threatening him to cuss Samuel out right there. But he kept his head settled, he had to keep his temper in check just long enough to calm down. " **No**. I can do it myself. Stay with your guests, just push me in there, I can handle it from there." The words came out clipped and rushed, but Rafe did not think he could say them slow and relaxed.

"You sure?" Sam asked quietly, still hushed to keep their conversation private. His hazel eyes were round, concerned, big puppy eyes.

"I got it, Samuel. Leave me alone."

Once he was inside the bathroom with the door firmly closed and locked behind him, Rafe felt like he could finally breathe. Since Nathan decided to poke around, he found himself nearly holding it from the moment he got here. There was a continuation of talk outside in the main apartment, despite efforts to hush in places when Rafe's name was mentioned. Rolling his chair easily across the clean tile, Rafe was able to turn on the taps, the sink was lowered just for his use he noticed, yet another alteration Samuel saw to. Or, at least the first sink of a set of two, the second was raised for Sam's own height. It made sense, they each have their own place to clean themselves, their own counter at their height. Shoving the bloodied, stinging hand under the stream of cold water, he had to bite back a scream. _Fuckkkk, does that ever burn like a motherfucker. Maybe we should invest in those cheap-ass plastic wine glasses._ There was a mirror that Rafe avoided looking into, tilted downwards for his ease, despising the reality reflected there. The privacy done little to change his mood. Watching his blood leech into the water and the pink mix to flow down into the drain, Rafe could only find himself hating the youngest Drake even more. Enough to make him feel sick. There were a few shards he had to pluck out of his palm and sliced fingers, wincing as he tossed them into the basin. " _Fucking_ … **_stupid_** …"

The first-aid kit was in the neighbouring closet, within easy reach for Rafe himself in case of emergencies. Placing it on the countertop, he dared turn off the tap, the water able to drown out the conversations outside until he shut it down. But all was quiet. _Good. Make them go away. I don't care how fucking happy they are, they need to get it the fuck away from me before I cut someone._ Chewing into his bottom lip, auburn-red hair kept falling into his eyes from his lack of composure and the thrashing of his efforts to budge the chair earlier having thrown it out of place. It was hard to see how bad the wound was, blood kept welling up, the kit was too hard to open one-handed. _Fuck. Of course. I can't do anything on my own anymore._ The frustration was coming in so intensely, angry tears were clouding his vision.

A soft knock at the door made him flinch, much against his intent on being confronted right now. Rafe glared at the source, not bothering to unlock it. They could wait, whomever it was. _I'm fucking busy here, asshole. Wait your goddamn turn._

"Rafe?" Sam's voice hesitantly called out beyond the door, unable to help himself when it came to his instincts. "You alright? Everything okay?"

"Leave me alone, Samuel," Rafe snapped agitatedly, furious tears already overflowing past efforts to blink them away, skimming down his face before he could forbid it. "Just go away."

"You know that's not _happening_ ," Sam almost sang out. "Come on. They're gone now, baby. You going to unlock it or do I have to let myself in?"

"Fuck **off** , Samuel!" Rafe snarled out, unable to help the explosion of rage that always followed an upset or disappointment. Using Sam's whole name usually only merited his bad moods or general conflicts. "It's your fucking fault they came. You didn't tell me a **word**."

A long sigh on the other side of the solid wood, exaggerated for his ears. "Okay, baby, I screwed up. But I'm still coming in. You're bleeding." There was a sound of a metallic slither, a key finding turn-bolts to fix in place and unlock the door. Why Sam neglected to tell him he had a key to the bathroom, Rafe had many clues why. Before Rafe could bellow out insults and more curses, the door was cracking open, Sam's head poking in to check on him. At seeing Rafe's tears, he froze. "Hey. What's wrong?"

 _What's wrong? You claim to fucking love me, know me, and you don't have a fucking clue who I am, what is in my head. How dare you. _Clenching both fists, Rafe could not resist the impulse no longer, slamming them both repeatedly into the marble-imitation countertop. It hurt both hands, not just the wounded one, but the pure unbridled rage was festering and it needed to be let out. _Fuck! Why is everything so goddamn **unfair**?! Why?! _Bloody imprints stamped onto the white surface every punch and hammer, but he could not stop himself. Not until strong, calloused fingers encircled both his wrists and forbid them from repeating it, locking them frozen in mid-air.

" _Stop_ ," Sam hushed once, voice lowered softly.

"Why did you fucking **do** it, Sam?" Rafe blurted out, his voice choked with sobs and unable to stop them. He was so angry, so betrayed, he felt like he was lowered to a place he never thought possible. "Why did you move me here? To **punish** me?! You don't think I'm goddamn **suffering** enough?!"

"You _know_ I wouldn't do that to you," Sam whispered gently into his ear after bending at the waist, planting a soft kiss unmistakeably fresh with cigarettes. Enough for Rafe to scoff and shove him back by the shoulders, fiercely and viciously pissed now. "What's wrong, babe? Tell me."

 _Don't you fucking pretend you have no idea what's wrong here. You're smarter than your brother, don't you fucking look at me like you don't know what's going on._ "How long did you wait to come in here, asshole? Long enough to grab a smoke, **right**?!" Rafe spat, he was much like a spin-top when he got going with his anger. Trying to stop him was bound to get someone hurt, they just had to let him wind down himself. "Jesus, get **off** me, you reek. Go away. **Go** , spend time with your goddamn family."

Sam Drake stepped back just an inch, just to kneel to force eye-contact. Before Rafe could snatch at the wheel-rim and roll backwards, Sam's hands were already there and fixing him in place. He was stuck. His natural instinct to flee was moot. Furious, Rafe met Sam's eyes at last, seeing a faint understanding there at last, but also a deep melancholy. "Is that what all this is about? Come on. Talk to me."

"Fuck _you_ , Sam!" Rafe bellowed at last, the tears now running unbidden, voice cracking from the harshness of the emotional turmoil. "You have **no** idea what it's **like**! I… I had everything! It might not have been fucking perfect, but I had a **life**! A job, a home, a goddamn father! I at least had my fucking **_body_** before this shit… And your fucking brother took **everything** from me in one move, with your help! And as if that wasn't shitty enough, you both left me to fucking **drown** , SAM! Paralysed! Stuck and **drowning**! And look at him now. He's got his happy little fucking **life** , like nothing ever happened. _No_ _consequences_. **Look** at me. I got fucking consequences, alright. More than enough to share. And as if that wasn't fucking bad _enough_? You do this! You move me **_HERE_**! I can't get away from that prick! He's your fucking brother and he nearly killed me. Did you not once think that fucking **through**?! So now, every time something wonderful happens for Nathan _goddamn_ Drake, I got no choice but to sit in for a dinner and listen to the good fucking news! God, I _hate_ you so much right now, if you just fucking told me earlier, I could have had a warning! Why do you keep doing this to me? Why are you punishing me like this?"

Without his consent, Sam reached in and enfolded him tightly into a hug against him, one hand at the back of his neck to lure him into it. Rafe growled angrily, not real words anymore through the sheer rage of it, meaning to head-butt Sam square in the face but he could not move. Samuel was clutching him tight enough to fold him into the embrace despite his resistance.

" **Get** **off**!" Rafe barked once, still eager to fight. "Samuel, I swear, get off me!"

"We can move, baby," Sam whispered softly into his ear again, the free hand rubbing his scarred spine gently. "I… I wasn't thinking. I'm _scared_ of losing you again, you keep pulling away like this… But we can move. If it will make you happy. I mean, it's just my brother, he's a good kid, but I guess he really doesn't _need_ us." The hurt in Sam's voice was tangible, enough to break Rafe's heart. But he honestly meant it. Those words, he meant every single one.

 _Jesus. What is wrong with me? Am I really that selfish? Am I really going to force him to pick between me or his family? I'm more like my father than I thought. Heartless. Cruel. _Reluctantly, Rafe slowly brought his arms up around Sam's neck, their preferred spot in these intimate embraces. Palming his face clear of any moisture that suggest he was crying, Rafe held his wounded hand out off Sam's shoulder to stop bleeding on his clothes. "… I didn't mean to say any of that," Rafe grumbled finally, struggling to put himself back together so soon after hysterics but Sam's heartbreak was too hard for him to deal with right now. "I'm _sorry_ , Sam… I just… freaked out. I couldn't breathe for a minute. I had to get out of there. It's… still very raw, you know? I don't _hate_ you. I … might even grow to like your family, but it's too hard right now. If I hate anybody, I hate my father more than anyone else. Other than myself. In the pursuit to Avery's ship… I became him."

"That's not the only thing, babe, you know it," Sam reasoned, a gentle prodding without the use of a sledgehammer. "You've been acting different before they showed up, before the good news. You're not yourself, baby. You're pulling away from me, a little more every day. You've been here over a week, you have to admit, you're not the same as you were when you first got here."

 _Fuck. He's right. I didn't want to see it. But I am. Oh God, Sam, I'm so sorry, why do I keep hurting you like this? I'm a monster. _The tears came again, hot and ready before he could actively stop them. Along with it, irresistible sobs and whimpers, pressing his burning face into Sam's neck to stifle them but he was unable to muscle them back. His arms dropped from Samuel's throat, instead clutching for handfuls of his shirt near his chest. _I'm such a mess. A disgusting, blubbering mess. I'm so goddamn scared every day, Sam. Every. Day. I'm terrified. I feel so… vulnerable. Helpless. I'm depending on you for everything, don't you get it? If anything at all happens to you, what is going to happen to me? You're all I have, Sam._

"Oh, _baby_ , don't cry," Sam crooned, a touch of panic in his voice. Sam never saw him break down like this. He never had a reason to. Even when shit got rough in Panama more than a few times, he never shed a tear. He refused, he had too much to strive for back then, he had an image to maintain. Sam only came into his life the second time after his mother had already passed, his emotional ties abruptly severed. He never had a reason to cry before with Sam Drake. But now, he had so many reasons, it was hard to keep track. Sam scooped him up from his chair into his arms, clutching for the first-aid kit with the same limb that slung his dead legs over. He was getting good at picking Rafe up now, it took practice and they were getting plenty. Samuel was quick to carry him from the bathroom, to their private little sanctuary, their bed. All the while, he was trying to comfort the shivering, weeping man in his embrace. "It's _okay_ , you're okay, baby. I got you now. It's fine. You're gonna be _okay_ , Rafe. Tell me, what's wrong?"

"I'm s-so fucking s-scared, Sam," Rafe could only helplessly whine, biting back a fresh sob or wail. "Of everything! I f-fucking **hate** this!"

"You got nothing to be scared of, Rafe, I promise you that," Samuel hushed, rough, calloused palms swiping away the moisture on his face. Despite how coarse his skin was, the touch was remarkably gentle. "No one's gonna hurt you, no one's gonna even try it. And if that's not the reason, you still don't have to be scared. Because I'm here, babe. It's okay, just relax. I got you, I'm not going anywhere."

Rafe was deeply grateful for the assurance. He cried much too long and hard for his standards, he had no idea just how long but he did not feel remotely better after. Just tired, headachy, and miserable. Eventually, his sobs tapered to hitching of his breath, before calm breathing once more. That was when Sam could focus on the damaged hand at last, getting Rafe to actually lay on his back before luring the arm into his lap. There was an extended period of silence between them, as Sam plucked splinters of glass Rafe missed. It was when he applied the disinfectant and Rafe growled in discomfort that he decided to speak again.

"Before you decided to break your glass," Sam drawled out gently, dabbing at the deep cuts with gauze. "What did you think of the news?"

 _Sam, you know I don't want to talk about that shit. You know my opinions on the matter, especially on kids, why bother?_ Rafe had to bite his lip for a moment, to fight off the knee-jerk, instinctual need to bicker. "So he gets to reproduce and now their lives are ruined. What of it?" His tone was short, quick to anger. His earlier rage was not forgotten.

"You make it sound like **you** knocked her up," Sam joked, risking a grin. "Come _on_ , Rafe. It's not like we're the ones going to be changing diapers. This is good news! Our little family is gonna get bigger."

" _'Our'_ family?" Rafe questioned out loud, scowling heavily. "They aren't my family, Sam. They're yours. Mine doesn't want me."

"So that means you can simply pick a new one. That really the worst thing? I mean, yeah, you might have history with Nathan. But I love you, babe. He knows we're an item now. If you're worried about him hurting you, it won't happen. Promise. And if I get to be an uncle, you get to be one, too." That last little statement was given with a smirk, a devilish little twinkle in Sam's hazel eyes. "Come on. We can spoil the kid rotten and not have to deal with the sugar high later. It'll be fun."

 _Okay, that sounds not all that bad, when you put it that way. But will they accept me as their family? That's the real fucking question, Nathan's the one with the problem._ Rafe was deeply reluctant to share Sam's thrill in the matter. How do you feel happy for the man that crippled you? Only the corner of Rafe's lips threatened to curl upwards, but mostly he stared up at Sam from his position on the bed. "So, if I'm an uncle, what does that make us?"

"What do you _think_ this whole thing makes us?" Samuel simply ducked, answering the whole question might be a bit much all at once. "You think I let any man try to shoot me, then move into my place?"

"You tell me, I was unconscious for a while apparently."

That earned him a little half-snort of humor, hardly a chuckle but Sam gave him a real smile. It might be hard to get him back to the way he was before Rafe's outburst, his usual happy-go-lucky self. His feelings were hurt in the screaming tirade. Content with how the wound looked, Sam was already wrapping layers of gauze around his torn palm and gouged fingers. "You're lucky. No stitches required. I thought for sure you would, but it almost stopped bleeding now."

"Yippee. Another trip to the hospital avoided." _I think I rather would have sat here and dealt with it myself. I'm avoiding fucking hospitals, just got out, I'm not going back._

That only earned him a shrug from Sam's brawny shoulders. "Ya know, I could have stitched it if they were bad. You learn quite a bit in prison with doctors and nurses that can't be bothered most days. Your ring finger's intact. That's all that matters."

Wrinkling his nose faintly, Rafe scowled at the thought of Sam holding a needle near his hand. _Uh, no, real medical professionals only. Any hack-job, it'll scar worse than it will now._ "And what the hell is **that** supposed to mean?"

There was a bashful flush that coloured Sam's weathered face, enough to draw Rafe's attention and curiosity. "Well, think about it. My little brother made the big leap since I was locked up. Why don't we do the same? Get hitched? We can start our own family, why not?"

 _Whoa. Hold up. Samuel Drake, are you fucking proposing here?_ Rafe's anxiety shot through the roof, but as did an odd swell of other emotions. Excitement? All he knew he was caught off-guard and could only stare perplexed up at his companion. "Sam. What are you saying?"

"Do I need to spell it out for ya? I'm saying, why don't we get married?"

"Because it's not legal here," Rafe stated bluntly, it was the first excuse that came up to mind. He had nothing else to cling to right now, no real obstacle. His father had no say in his life anymore. There were no barriers. "You might have to go a state or two over."

"So we do that. What's the big deal?" Samuel's eyebrows raised inquiringly, knowing Rafe made excuses when he did not want to do something yet did not want to come out and say it. "I mean, it doesn't have to be a huge affair, it could just be a court-house signing on a certificate, bang, married."

"Maybe I'm _scared_ , Sam," Rafe sighed out. He had to at least be honest, he owed him that much. "I thought court-house signings were always tacky. Nothing official about signing a piece of paper, you need the ceremony. Plus, who is going to even show up, Sam? What the fuck will the guest list even look like? I can guarantee you my side of the church will be empty. Hell, pretty much yours too."

There was a brief wince of sadness and grief in Sam's eyes as he finished securing the bandages, settling Rafe's arm into his lap while tracing fingertips along the forearm and wrist. "Why won't your dad show? I get some people don't have big families, I only got my kid brother. That makes the ties stronger. It's more important, blood ties, you always have someone to depend on. Mostly. I don't think you got siblings, you never mentioned any."

"You're right, I don't," Rafe confirmed, staring up at the ceiling. Thinking about how deeply dysfunctional his upbringing was, he knew he could not depend on his family. As few members as there were. "Not every family is the same, hon. My da-… father, he cut everyone he was related to, distant or close, out when he started acquiring his wealth. Greed. And then, he married my mother, from a noble but poor-ass family, and only bothered with one kid. Mom's dead. And that rotten bastard doesn't give two shits if I live or die. But marry a **_man_**? A fucking **_felon_**? Good luck. He'd see us disgraced. He doesn't know if I'm still alive."

Stubbornly, Sam's brow furrows. Rafe knew that look. He was going to do something that was not going to be easy by any means but had full intentions in succeeding. "So we see him. Ask for his graces. If not, do it in secret. Fuck it. People elope all the time."

"You're insane," Rafe spat softly. "This is Magnus Adler. Not some white-trash trailer-park drunk. Visiting might not be a horrible idea. But telling him we're getting hitched? No. He'd have us thrown out on our asses. Maybe tarred and feathered for good measure, like the good old days."

"Real winner, this guy," Sam murmured, smoothing the distressed hair backwards from Rafe's forehead. "I'm still not letting you go alone. Blood ties or not, I don't like the sound of that dick."

"You and me both."


	5. Chapter 5

It took another week to work up to it, but eventually Samuel Drake managed to convince Rafe to speak with his father at last. No good might come of the effort, but it could never hurt to try. On the drive there, Sam bought some old beater clunker to get them from point A to point B. While Samuel preferred motorcycles, the novelty certainly wore off with the paralysis, Rafe was too terrified of falling off without legs to hold himself on. Nothing Samuel had in his closet was up to Magnus' standards, and all Rafe's former wardrobe was either in a landfill or auctioned off, the countless Prada, Gucci, Versace and other priceless collections. They had to make do with some cheap button-down dress shirts, Rafe insisting on slacks while Samuel rebelled in his own way with blue jeans. _Of course he did. Amazing first impressions, Sam. Really going to start it off on the right foot._ The car ride was mostly anxious silence on Rafe's part, tapping an index fingertip against his grit teeth as he stared out the window with no reason direction. He felt most numbed to the possibility of an interaction with his father in so many long months up until he saw the massive iron-wrought gates at the edge of the estate. The familiarity of them made him want to puke.

"Oh Jesus, here we go," Rafe muttered softly to himself, feeling suddenly very hot, sweating actually, the air inside the car was too stale. "If we get in through the guard-post, it'll be a fucking _miracle_ …"

"You really think he hates you that _much_?" Sam asked out loud, struggling with the concept of such an alienated family. "I mean, my dad was an asshole, too. He gave us two boys up after Mom died, Catholic orphanages and reform schools and prisons…"

"My dad told me to get the treasure, or don't come back. And Avery's stash isn't in the back seat."

There was another extended period of silence. The guard posted near the gates flagged them to stop, but at seeing Rafe sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, alarmed, he waved them through. How, he had no idea. Much to their surprise, the chalet actually took the keys from Sam, the clunker maybe too shitty to be seen in front of the Adler Estate. But no one offered to assist Sam with the wheelchair or helping Rafe into it. He doubted Samuel would allow it as possessive and over-protective he came be. But eventually, they gotten past all the staff, the gardens, the foyer. They were abruptly stopped at the main entrance, massive pitch-black double-doors, by a familiar face. Not one Sam knew, it was one Rafe was once friendly with, the main butler of the house.

The door cracked open an inch, just enough for a judgemental, skeptical eye to peered at Sam through the gap. Rafe recognized the slate grey irises, the weathered, aged bull-dog face, the wisps of white whiskers on his upper lip. A dismissive, nasally voice hummed out, as if the door were a protective barrier of whatever poverty-stricken ailment they might be infested with. " **No** **sales**. How did you get past the guards?"

"Uhhh," Sam faltered, but Rafe knew he had to interrupt quickly.

"Long time, Renford, how's my old man?" Rafe questioned out loud, his formerly suave and friendly tone trying to surface through the transformation he took. He hoped his smile was perceived as genuine.

The shock and surprise was tangible on the elderly man's face, fixing down to Rafe's position in his wheelchair, significantly lower to the ground than previously. "Master Rafe," the butler gasped out, the door yanked open as if the very suggestion it was held closed moments before was foolish. "We thought you had died! Your father declared you dead, that the hunt for Avery's wealth killed you."

 _Well, close enough, I suppose. It certainly left its mark, that's for sure._ Rafe tried to force another smile, a toothier one, trying to charm his way to his father's office. "He might have misunderstood the phone call, my friend's accent tends to be a bit hard for d-… Father to understand. I've been meaning to talk with him, just one meeting, I suppose. That fine with you, Renford?"

"O-of course, sir."

It went easy enough, getting into the office. Samuel had not fully seen the Adler Estate, he was staring in wide-eyed bewilderment at the size and extravagance of the mansion. It was the home Rafe grew up in, he knew every detail, but looking around just made him sad. There was a noticeable absence of the silk and hand-painted portrait of the family, of Magnus and his mother when they were younger, of Rafe as a boy. The satin wallpaper behind was shadowed still by the outline, the sun having bleached all but where the portrait hung. He purposely had to look away from the spot, it was a bit painful to think how no mementos of his mother remained. The dark-stained oak double-doors to his father's office were actually guarded, armed guards, Rafe noticed. But they did not react with a trace of hostility to the pair, it all was going remarkably well. Until he got inside. His father's silhouette in the massive windows was hauntingly familiar, enough to make him feel physically ill. Absently, Rafe left his palm resting weakly over his stomach.

"The prodigal son returns," a low growl snarled out, his father's proud stature still keeping his back turned to him. His father, Magnus Adler, had scarcely changed over the years. His long blonde locks now steel-grey, pulled back into a loose ponytail, fierce ice-blue eyes that could chill a soul at a glance. His height was formidable in his youth, a towering six foot five, but as a man in his early sixties he hardly change build. His spine was still straight and strong, an athletic build much thicker with muscle than Rafe was ever able to build. They were genes he only barely inherited, like his mixed eyes. And even in his home during his supposed retirement, Magnus never wore anything else but professionally-tailored and crafted suits of expensive and name-worthy collections. The slate grey tie matched his father's hair, but otherwise he appeared dressed in shadow, pure black. "Where's Avery's treasure?"

Wincing, Rafe clasped both hands in his lap, staring down at them in heavy shame. To his surprise, Sam held his tongue. It left him to explain himself. "We found it. Just outside King's Bay, Madagascar. It was all in Avery's ship, The Fancy, in some secret cave outside Libertalia. It sunk, but it's still there, Dad, all you—"

"What did I tell you about addressing me as anything else but Father?" came a harsh correction, Magnus still not turning around. "You might associate with scum, but you're half my blood. Behave as such."

Ashamed and his face burning with the humiliation of being so viciously scolded, Rafe wrung his hands together. The bandages were off his wounds there, but the scabs still smart at times. He could only stare at his own lifeless, bony knees. "Yes, Father. The treasure… everything was rigged. Libertalia was empty. Avery massacred them all, their bones are just littering the place. He stole away all the gold, in his ship—"

"So you **_saw_** it," Magnus simply said, his tone changed. "And you bring back not a sliver of proof. How do I know this isn't a ploy?"

There was a spike of rage deep in Rafe's core, enough to lift his gaze from his wringing hands and glare at his father's shoulders. "Father, I'm not lying, I saw it! There was just too much explosives, the fire broke out and we were trapped inside!"

"He's right, sir," Sam finally piped up from behind him, jarring Rafe's frayed nerves and making him bite his lip to stop screaming at the elder Drake. "He followed me there, hell, we kept a few stray coins from the stash as keepsakes, Nathan—"

"Nathan Drake?" Magnus blurted out. He was never patient as a rule, he interrupted those he deemed inferior to himself. Finally, Magnus turned to face them, inquisitive yet cold blue eyes settling on them. They flicked to Rafe in the wheelchair, a cruel twinkle there before he fixed his predatory gaze on Sam. "And you are?"

"Samuel Drake. He's my little brother."

Almost as fast as he grew curious with the elder Drake, he seemed to lose it equally rapidly. Those cool eyes came back to Rafe, making him feel very small and scared. "I see it now. Fifteen years, the name's familiar. But I never forget faces. You hired these two, for the Panama job. _Fascinating_ , Rafael. All this time, you're friends with the very ones that could have brought you there. Now tell me. What misfortune rendered you unable to walk?"

A deep pang of resentment, but mostly disgust and humiliation with his own actions, Rafe grimaced as he dropped his eyes again. He could never stare down his father when his dad knew exactly what buttons to push. Face scorching now, Rafe wrung his hands tighter. "There was an accident. On The Fancy."

"Liar. Reports say it was a jeep accident. You careened off a cliff while not paying attention."

"I'm not lying!" Rafe only helplessly bellowed, fists now clenched and slamming into the arm-rests. "We were **trapped**! I… I lost my head, I started attacking Nathan—"

" **There's** the boy I raised!" Magnus barked back, stunning Rafe back into scared silence. His father rounded on him, striding over and not stopping until he stood mere feet from him, glaring down at the top of Rafe's head. He could feel those hateful blue eyes burning holes in his skull. "Temper, always got the better of you, no matter how much I tried to _beat_ it out of you. And let me guess. All those hours of defense-classes, fencing, sparring, combat training… **Wasted**."

"I had him on the floor…" Rafe could only growl, envisioning all too clearly in his mind, having been on replay since the incident. Trembling faintly, he fought off the urge to spit curses. "I had him! I was standing over him… And I don't remember what happened next. Nadine… She said I got crushed under the treasure…"

Samuel could not hold himself back again when Rafe was struggling. Speaking out again, much against his interest, Rafe could only brace himself for what he might say. "I'm sorry, sir. My brother… we talked about it. He cut a rope, a big sack of gold just fell on Rafe. He nearly didn't make it, I didn't find him until a couple months after at the hospital."

There was an uncomfortable silence, enough that Rafe only closed his eyes for and winced as he braced for the inevitable rage. But Magnus only chuckled. A soft, humorless rumble deep in his chest. "Rafael Erik Adler. Crippled by the wealth he sought. There was a reason why I never pursued Libertalia, boy. It was a death trap. The road to it alone was treacherous. Many lost their lives simply scouting. The Panama stint was one thing. But the real hunt? You were a fool to go yourself."

"I wasn't by myself…" Rafe muttered stubbornly. "I had … one man with me. And Nadine."

"You _always_ were simple-minded, much like your mother at times," came a cruel snarl. "You should have retreated and gotten **adequate** support. You **had** it, Rafael. _So_ _close_. And now it's lost. A **wasted** gamble. It'll cost more retrieving it than the gold is worth! And look at you now. Broken. Ruined. If only the roles were reversed, that it were **me** in a chair instead of **_you_**. You might have had a chance to step into my shoes then. Now you can't do that unassisted. What use are you to me?"

"Jesus Christ, you _can't_ be serious," Sam blurted out once more, unable to hold his tongue. His anger was getting the better of him. "He's your goddamn son. Your only child. What's wrong with you?"

Magnus' cold, vicious gaze focused on Samuel, almost reptilian in the way it shifted, never blinking. "Nothing. Precisely my point. I'm at the peak of my health. I possibly have another twenty years. Maybe thirty. I have no use for a broken, weak successor. By then? Who knows? I could father a decent heir."

Rafe blinked, mystified at the sheer suggestion of simply being replaced after a lifetime of grooming, training, and all the blood, sweat and tears he had sacrificed in the name of his father. Shocked into numbness, Rafe could only tilt his head up to stare at his father, the man he once idolized and loved and strove to be. "You… you can't be serious… I… I gave my life to be everything you wanted…"

"And you continued to disappoint, time and time again. Imagine my position, Rafael. Truly. Put all your energy into one child, an imperfect lump of clay, only for it to blow up in your face. You took most after your mother, I tried not to fault you for that. I tried to guide you, firmly perhaps at times. But you disgrace our family name. I tried to ignore your … _sexual_ _proclivities_ , no matter how indiscreet. I try to find you a **wife** , you spit in my face and go on about your ' _freedoms'_. I see now all I was doing was wasting my time. Go on. Get out of my sight. Come back here again, you will be prosecuted. I will see to it personally. Seems I cannot erase or alter your birth certificate, you will remain Adler in name **only**. Do not contact me again."

Numbly, Rafe could only nod, humiliated tears glazing his eyes and threatening to fall. He felt like he could not breathe. His chest refused to allow his lungs to fully expand. He felt sick, like he might throw up right in his lap. But mostly, he was hurt. All that time, he hoped somehow, someway, his dad loved him deep down. He knew it was false now, his own wishful thinking that never took to seed. "… You got it…" he only whispered meekly, hardly able to find anything else to say.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" Sam snarled, unable to stop himself anymore. He felt Sam trembling through his grip on the handles, quivering against him. "He's your fuckin' son! I thought **my** dad was shitty, but you're a real piece of work. Rafe busts his ass to be what you want! Hell, it's not any of his fault this shit went down, it was like a freak accident, it just happened!"

Magnus simply glanced Sam over with a bored scowl. "Maybe if he was more skilled, more wise, he would not be in this position. But he's _defective_. I've tried to shape him in my image, but you can't work with imperfect material. I should have realized it sooner. Weak. Short. Effeminate. Flamboyant. Even his supposed talent in the water, he could not make the cut. Now get out of my house. Take that disabled miscreant with you."

Each word physically stung like a slap, Rafe almost entirely disbelieving of what he heard. Almost. He knew that was his father's truth. He only spent decades hearing hints of it, never spoken so blatantly all at once in his face. He almost wanted to shrink into his chair, slowly slouching as much as the metal rod in his spine allowed it. He just wanted to retreat. He did not want to see the house he grew up in like this, when he was being thrown out of it. He just wanted to disappear. _Please, Sam. Get me out of here. I want to get away from this hell. Please._

"Fine. You don't want him, I'll take him," Samuel snapped, surprisingly calm despite the pure agitation he was subtly showing. "Ya know what, at least with me, I know he's going to be fuckin' happy and taken care of. I was gonna extend an invitation to **our** wedding but—"

" ** _You_**? Marry **him**?" Magnus snarled back incredulously, venom dripping from his words. "Of course. Why am I not surprised? You disgust me, Rafael. Your mother would be turning in her grave. Get out. Now."

"Gladly," Sam replied almost too casually, turning Rafe's wheelchair rather abruptly and guiding him out of the office.

Rafe sat there, numb, so deeply wounded, hands pressed together in his lap as he glided out of his childhood home and unable to bring himself to look up at it. Only his shaking, pale hands were his focus. Anything else was too much right now. Everything felt like a blur, a haze, until he was sitting back in the passenger seat of Sam's shitty little car, the elder Drake actually fastening his seatbelt. But he could not physically speak until they left the estate limits. All the while, he forbid the tears to fall. They wanted to, they were collected to the very fucking brim, but he stubbornly bit down on his lip, chewing. He could not think. The voice in his head was very quiet. Only his father's words echoed in his ears.

On the road home, maybe not perhaps ten minutes from the estate boundaries, Samuel finally decided to speak his mind on what was bothering him about that entire interaction. Rafe could not look at him. He simply stared straight ahead, eyes on the road. "So, uh… I guess that means we're free to get hitched, baby."

Unable to control himself any longer, Rafe hunched down into his seat and brought both shaking hands to cover his face, sobs wrenching free in horrible, hysterical tangents. He felt sick, nausea sweeping over him, a mindless desperation coming over the grief to escape, tear-drenched fingers flying out for the door handle. The lock was engaged, his furious struggle with the handle was fruitless but enough to startle Sam into nearly swerving off the road. _FUCK! FUCK, WHY?! My whole life. My whole goddamn life, I idolized that prick, I loved him. If I disgusted him that much, why did he even bother?! I should have died. Christ, I would give anything to be cold and dead in the ground, fuck this place, get me out._

" _Rafe_?!" Sam yelped out, deeply upset to see such a reaction, the vehicle jerking to a halt on the dirt shoulder of the road. "Baby?! Jesus, you trying to get killed here? I was driving! Give me a warning next time—"

"Y- **yes** , okay?! I f-fucking can't t-take any of this a-anymore!" Rafe howled out, still thrashing at the door. Finally, a moment of clarity, he attacked the small pin-lock and fought it up and out of the mechanism, tearing the door nearly off its hinges as he shoved it out. Rafe tried to lunge along with it, throw himself into the dirt, and hopefully brain himself on a decent-sized rock but the seatbelt snagged him back into his seat. With another frustrated bellow, he ripped the belt free and nearly repeated it but Sam's powerful grip on his wrist forbid him from moving. "FUCK! L-let go! P- _please_!"

"Rafe, what the _hell_?" Sam grumbled out loud, mostly bewildered and confused by the seemingly confused and mindless actions. "You don't have your wheelchair out, you plannin' on crawling away? We're on the friggin' highway, you're going to get hurt." His grip never faltered, only tightening much to Rafe's utter distress. "Just close the door, baby. Come on. Let's go home."

 _Home? That fucking empty apartment isn't my fucking home. My home is back there! Goddammit! Everything I ever owned is still there… My photos of Mom. Oh God, I have nothing left of her. And he fucking knows that! That asshole. I'm going to kill him. I will._ Rafe viciously writhed against the grip holding him hostage essentially, tears clouding his vision, actually swiping a hard slap at Sam's face. He missed, Samuel saw it coming and shied away from it, just tapping over his chest. He tried gain, but it was going nowhere fast, Sam clearly had the advantage, turning in his seat and utilizing both hands now to contain him, trapping the striking arm. "N-no… L-leave me… I want to d-die here…" Rafe could only pitifully whimper now, barely able to inhale a solid breath. _Just go, Sam. Please, you deserve someone so much better, I'm a fucking stray, let me end my misery on the fucking street like one._

"I know you're hurting right now, baby," Sam crooned gently, attempting to be as calm as he could in such circumstances. "He's a piece of shit, no loss there. You _gained_ a fuckin' family, baby, you don't need him. I got you. Just close the door, alright? You'll be okay. Just come back home with me."

* * *

Rafe Adler knew his mental condition was spiraling rapidly downwards, he never felt such a mind-numbing and impairing depression in his whole life. Even after the death of his mother, Rafe threw himself into the search for Libertalia if it meant distracting himself from the overwhelming emotional difficulties he grappled with. Now he had no more goals, no more redeeming hunts or challenging puzzles. Three days after the confrontation with his father, Rafe refused to budge out of bed in the span of time after he gotten home. There was nothing at all that kept him there, no book riveting to keep the pages turning, no sickness too devastating to move. He simply had no strength, energy or desire to budge. He neglected to bathe, only forced himself to eat when Sam brought him a meal, his paralysis disabling his desire for the bathroom and the desire to move. Rafe could smell the stink hanging off him, body odour, unclean and unwashed skin, oily hair, a sour kind of illness scent. If it bothered Samuel, he rarely mentioned it, only occasionally asking Rafe if he wanted to shower. But what was the point? His life as he knew it was over. His spirit died, it was only a matter of time before his body caught up.

It was on the fourth morning that Samuel rolled over and sat up abruptly, not his usual slow-going self in the early hours. He got dressed quickly, before continuing their routine. He was going to ask Rafe if he wanted to get anything done today, to at least budge enough to get cleaned up, maybe go for a stroll together. But Rafe saw an immediate difference in their rehearsed motions. Instead of pawing and rubbing at his spine in bed beside him, Samuel now went to his side of the bed barefoot, crouching down to catch Rafe's open, glazed stare. The younger man had no idea how bad he looked, but seeing the pained wince in Sam's eyes in looking him over with that concerned, flitting dance of his gaze, he knew it was _terrible_. Rafe used to take great pains with his personal appearance, his hygiene and grooming. Sam's hazel irises fixed on his own, a deeply sensitive soul deep down hiding behind them. It hurt Rafe more to see it. It made him believe that Sam needed stability, a partner with a real footing, someone who needed that devotion. Looking at Sam now made him ashamed for holding the elder Drake hostage with pity and old sentiments.

"Hey, baby," Sam cooed softly, tucking a loose, oiled lock of red-auburn hair away off Rafe's forehead. "Come on. Time to get up today, okay? I know you feel like shit, but you'll feel so much better after a shower. Come on, your wheelchair is right here if you don't want me to carry you." Samuel had made previous attempts in the last couple days to scoop Rafe up out of bed like he had practiced before, but Rafe's inconsolable hysteria and screaming discouraged any other efforts to try and get him there himself. Rafe hoped Sam would get frustrated, yell at him, hit him, fucking _anything_ , but the man's patience was remarkable. He steadfastly remained calm and kind.

Rafe could only sluggishly blink at the suggestion, so tired despite the numerous added hours of sleep, he felt worse than he did in the body cast at the hospital. His mind was fine back then, only pissed off that he was stuck motionless and bitter. But Rafe had no desire to budge. He wanted to lie there and sleep more, maybe fade away gradually and pass on like his father hoped for. _Go away, Sam. Leave me here._ "… I'm not going anywhere…" Rafe murmured quietly, protectively tucking the duvet tighter around himself. "… Don't bother… No point…"

That stubborn Drake furrow of the brow, Sam was not one to easily back down. He pushed the wheelchair aside a bit, meaning to scoop Rafe back up into his arms as he done so many times before. "Rafe, come **_on_** ," Samuel almost pleaded, a hint of desperation in his voice that Rafe found peculiar. "You know what, I'll help you. I know you're tired, but if I help, it'll be done faster. Just come here, baby."

Just as Samuel reached for him, Rafe almost jerked his upper body backwards into the mattress, retreating from Sam on the bed. " **No** ," Rafe simply growled out, before his voice slipped back down to the feeble whisper. "… Leave me… I'm only a burden to you… Just leave me alone, Samuel…"

Wounded from the refusal, Sam slowly stood up and folded his arms against his chest, staring down at him in faint … what? Grief? Fear? Nostalgia? But Samuel turned before Rafe could truly decipher it, snatching his jean-jacket from the doorknob he hung it from and stuffing his arms into the sleeves. Autumn was fast approaching. "I'm going for a smoke, baby. I'll be back. Don't… go anywhere, okay?"

 _Like I have a choice._ Rafe did not bother with a reply. But part of him wondered what Samuel was up to. He noticed Sam was not itching for his lighter's typical position in his breast pocket, his typical habit before he went for a nicotine break. He partially closed the door, but overall Rafe could hear everything within the apartment, contrary to Sam's belief in 'sound-proofing'. Lying awake with his eyes open, staring blankly at the wall, Rafe scowled when he did not hear the inevitable sliding door of their balcony, nor the flick of the zippo. Only, the dialing of a cell-phone's keys, the dial-tone of the call pending for the receiver to answer. _The hell, Sam? Are you getting me fucking institutionalized? I doubt it, that's beyond your control if I ended up there. _

"Come on, pick up…" he heard Sam mutter anxiously, the morning light showing a shadow that flit side to side, Samuel was pacing the room equally worried as he sounded. What got his boxers up in a twist, Rafe had not a clue. Rather, he simply listened quietly, too numbed to remotely care.

"Oh, thank _God_ , you're home," Samuel sighed out as the other individual picked up. Rafe could not hear the other exchange, only Sam's voice rang out clearly. "Yeah. Yeah, no. Listen, Elena, is Nathan around? _Yeah_? Thank you, girl, you're a life-saver. No, nothing… nothing major. I'm just needing advice. Maybe a hand. Thanks." There was a touch of a pause, most likely waiting for the younger bother to answer. "Nathan? Hey, uh… Yeah, yeah. Just listen, alright? Can I get you to stop judging me for a fuckin' **minute** about that? It's about him. Yeah, well guess what, while you were on adventures with bombshell babes, I was in Panama, maybe that's why the divergence in paths, alright? Just shoosh your damn mouth for a minute! Yeah… I need some help here. No, nothing like that. He's not **_dangerous_** , Nathan, Jesus. No… We, uh. We went to see his dad. Yeah, I never met the prick neither, good fuckin' reason for that. He's fuckin' _vicious_. Let's just say… we're all he's got now. It's been four days? He hasn't moved from the bed since we got back… I'm scared, Nathan. You might not remember how bad she got near the end, but I remember what Mom went through. She … done **this** before, I just fuckin' recognized it now, and I'm needing a damn hand here. _Please_ , Nathan. I know you two don't see eye to eye—punk, that's not **funny**. You need to listen to me here. This isn't a goddamn fling. He means something to me, and if you can't accept that then I guess that means we'll go our separates ways. What's another fifteen years? Listen. Yeah, you're right. You **did** fuck up there. He might very well be a part of this screwed up little family we got going on, that's just how I feel about him. Just… please, Nathan. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks, little brother, I owe you. See you soon."

 _I'm not going anywhere, Sam, company or not. I'm staying right here in bed. Just keep your family away from me._ Wearily, Rafe closed his eyes. Samuel did not immediately return, at least not alone. He had no idea if he dozed off. One moment, he heard Sam pacing out in the main living room, eyes close, a soft knock on the faintly-ajar door, eyes open. Slightly irritated at being so frequently pestered when he wanted to be alone, Rafe sighed and pulled the duvet close again. "Go away, Sam… I'm too tired for this shit."

"I'm sorry, baby, I know," Sam's voice murmured softly somewhere in the room behind him. "I got some people here to see you—"

"Make them go away, Samuel," Rafe snarled weakly under the duvet, the bitterness back before he could sense it coming. "I'm not getting out, make them fucking leave me here, go away—"

"Rafe?" Another voice called out hesitantly, not in the living room, right beside Samuel by the sound of it, like he had strangers in his bedroom. He _knew_ he had strangers in his bedroom. There was something so violating about that. It was a voice he grew to loathe. Nathan Drake. "Rafe, buddy? Hey, you doing alright?" There was an awkwardness reflected in his tone, he clearly was not good at handling either this situation or this person he was speaking to.

Anxiety made him retreat fully under the duvet, deeply self-conscious. Rafe Adler used to be a man of esteem, despite his time in Panama, he was meticulous was shaving and grooming even then. He knew all too well how far he fallen. He was no longer a powerfully built swimmer, nor a formidable opponent. He was without status, without money, without a home and family. He lost everything by the man that now came to him in his own bedroom, the place he once believed he could be **safe**. Until the Drakes came into his life. He curled partially on his side, actually pulling his unresponsive legs up to his chest. He kept his back to the bedroom invader, the duvet a shielding tent from that reality. He could be safe under there. _Jesus. This is like… like when I was a boy. The monsters were real._

 _At six years old, Rafe Adler often liked to believe he was fearless. He was courageous and without an ounce of shyness some kids his age might have. But at night, alone in his huge bedroom in the Adler Estate, nothing held the same level of terror as pitch black dark in the dead of night to a child. His mother used to sing to him when he got scared. But like one of many nights in Rafe's young life, his mother was not on the premises, she was in a locked hospital for the mentally unstable for depressive and self-destructive behaviours. He never knew what those meant, not at the time. Just that his mom gets sad and disappears into her room for days, sometimes weeks. That would leave him alone with the staff and the nannies and the tutors. And his father._

 _Shivering despite the sweat slicking his body, Rafe clutched for his toy flashlight, dutifully under his pillow. Under the covers, with the flashlight on, everything seemed okay again. He could pretend he was camping. He never been camping before, never imagined sleeping in a tent. But sometimes, he might hear a noise. It would be enough to encourage him to curiously poke his head out from under the blankets in his four-poster bed. His room was awesome in the daytime, filled with enough toys and play equipment to occupy him for hours if not for being alone. But at night, the shadows danced and came to life, casting jagged teeth and ghoulish haunted eyes and cruel, clutching fingers. Those scared him enough to hide back under the covers. Even when he would hear his bedroom door unlock with a key and open, typically only occurring on nights his mom was not home, he could not bring himself to look out. He knew monsters came out at night._

 _"Rafael. You should be asleep," a voice he recognized as his father's called to him. But he was too afraid to budge. He only closed his eyes tightly and trembled. "Keep quiet. Go to sleep. Close your eyes."_

 _The hands would always grab for him next, after telling him to keep quiet, go to sleep. They went for his wrists and pulled the flashlight free, tossing it to another corner of the mattress. His nightshirt would go up into his mouth, yanked off and wadded into a ball. His silk pajama pants came off next and would tie his wrists together, no matter how much he tried to sleep and pretend it was not happening, that he was safe in his bed with his flashlight and alone. His father, or the monster wearing his skin at night, would spank him hard even when he done nothing wrong, enough that he would sometimes wet the bed no matter how hard he tried to not do so. And what came next would always hurt so badly even though he tried to relax like his father told him. But not tonight, please not tonight, please leave me alone daddy, please._

As the duvet was yanked off his body, Rafe squeezed his eyes shut and clamped both hands over his ears in deep desperation to block out what would likely happen. His mind told him a threat was imminent, his nervous system in overload with complicated, terrifying emotions. All he could do was beg and lay still. Anything to get his father to leave him alone, to not touch him. "Oh God no… please, daddy, _please_ … No, don't touch me, leave me alone…Just not tonight, not _again_ , I _can't_ …"

No agony occurred. In fact, Rafe could not feel his legs at all, only cool air assaulting his naked skin where there should have been a thick feather-down duvet. And his own tears burning hot trails on his face. There were no angry words raining down on him, no slaps or spanks, nothing that he could at least feel. Very cautiously, Rafe eased his eyelids open a tiny fracture, stunned to see three shapes standing above him, not one. Blinking the tears from his gaze a few times to clear them, he noticed they were familiar and from a different period of time. Hell, the room was not the Adler Estate, it was too plain and small. He could not resist the tremors, still fearful.

Samuel was the most clearly distraught of the trio, he was bracing himself against a dresser and his eyes misted with his own struggling emotions. He was fighting back words, sounds, sobs, anything at all, his jaw grit so tight his teeth were grinding. His calloused hand was clutching for his chest, rubbing the spot like he was physically working his breathing manually in harsh, weak pants. He was closest to the head of the bed, the dresser along the wall. Beside him was the plucky blonde reporter Rafe come to know as Elena Fisher, her former career left aside and leaving him under the impression she was a washed-up tag-along Nathan could not seem to shake off. It was an unfair assessment, he knew that much, but Rafe was so bitter and damaged he did not care. Both hands pressed together and brought to her nose and mouth, it almost vaguely resembled a praying position, but the sympathy in her brown doe eyes was enough to show mutual pity, an easier expression to read and swallow. At her opposite side, her husband and thorn in Rafe's side, Nathan Drake. Rafe did not feel a flare of hatred anymore. He just felt betrayed by the ones he trusted enough with his life at one point in their history. He did trust Nathan as much as Sam once. _Once_. A broken back and a loss of a century tends to do that. The youngest Drake did not hold the same level of mental strain as his brother displayed openly. He was the one gripping the duvet in both hands to physically heft it off Rafe's hunkered position on the bed. But at seeing Rafe's naked, curled body, there was clear conflicting and troubling feelings in his expression. He was fighting to be indifferent, but there was a collective pain in the small group and Nathan was not impervious to them despite his dealings with the man in bed. They both sported scars from their fight on The Fancy, but it was clear who the victor was.

Still reeling from the bizarre flashback of a memory he never realized he had, Rafe felt so very nauseous, more than he ever felt contributing to imagery alone. _Jesus. Oh my God. How… how did I never realize that happened? When did he stop attacking me in the night? Did… did I just forget it on purpose? What do they call that? Repressed memories? It… it explains so much… I… I think I'm going to be sick._ Lurching to hang his head over the side of the mattress, Rafe gagged before he could feel the urge strike him. Wrenching down from deep in his core, he spluttered and heaved, hardly anything at all coming up, Rafe had not eaten anything that day yet. He felt like he could not suck a breath in between the vomiting spells. "… Oh God…" Rafe coughed at last, just then noticing he puked on the carpeted floor. _These carpets. They'll be the death of me._ "…. Ohh… F-fuck…."

"R-Rafe, baby?" Sam whined out at last, struggling to stop himself from outright bawling, there were already sniffles starting up. He almost threw himself forward, hands just hovering an inch over his skin to touch but fearful of provoking a negative reaction. "Rafe? Just breathe, baby… My g-god, I had no _idea_ , baby… Ffffuck, I should have **known**! I could have k- **killed** that fuckin' animal!"

"Hey…" Elena cooed gently, grasping at Sam's shoulder and giving it a faint squeeze. She might have had the surest decision-making among them, she was the only one without a real background with Rafe. "Sam, it's okay. Nate, go to the bathroom, run a tub of water. Not too hot. Throw that in the laundry. Just the cover, not the whole thing. We're going to clean up in here."

Nathan just seemed to only vaguely understand, nodding once before walking from the room numbly and the dirty duvet trailing behind him. Sam had actually nearly climbed into the bed with Rafe, slowly pulling the smaller man up into his arms. Rafe did not bother resisting, he was too tired and traumatized to move at this point, only jamming his eyes closed. Rather, he was allowing himself to be completely manipulated, still quivering in shock. He just felt sick, disgusted, used, and so deeply humiliated. And scared. So damn scared, he did not know what to do with himself. He might as well have been fully paralysed. Part of his mind kept telling him his father was grabbing at him again, the instinctual, trained desire to go completely limp to his captor's wishes. _Just go to sleep. Close your eyes. He'll stop when he's done. Oh my God, why is this even **happening** right now? Where's Sam? _

"Oh _Godddd_ …." Sam whimpered above him, rocking himself back and forth with Rafe cradled in his arms. He was sure it was Sam's voice. But Rafe refused to open his eyes again, he was obeying the rules he grew to learn but had long forgotten. "What's wrong with him? H-he's… He's just not m-moving!"

"Sam, just keep calm, okay?" Elena soothed again, but the urgency in her voice was what made Sam abruptly stop shaking. "Calm down, just relax. You're going to make him worse. Get him into the bathroom, okay? We need to get him cleaned up, strip this bed, get everything clean again. Come on. I can't get him there myself, I need you to help me. _Please_ , Sam. Focus."

"Okay… okay, you're right," Sam mumbled at last, finally seeming to get himself together, with a final hard sniff. He tucked Rafe close to him briefly, enough to press a wet kiss into his forehead. "You hear me, baby? We're just gonna get you a nice bath, okay? Just hang on."

Rafe did not flinch or loop his arms around Sam's muscular neck like he always done before at being lifted, in fact, his fright jumped in magnitude. He had to bite down a soft cry, but the stifled sound could not be entirely swallowed. It emerged as a dull keening, a distant but distressed noise. He used to make sounds like that when he was a kid, too, he remembered only remotely. His father used to hate those whimpers. He would get crueller until no more sounds came. Sam only seemed to shudder a bit in response, but otherwise kept his cool easier this time around. Rafe did not open his eyes until his body hit the water, suddenly submerged up to his shoulders. And then, he was utterly terrified.

 _No! NO! No, I won't drown, I can't! I can't breathe!_ A horrified scream was on his lips, sucking in a deep breath to howl but opening his eyes, he found himself not on The Fancy, not at the Adler Estate, but somewhere else. Rafe's wiry arms shot out to clutch at either side of the tub, sunk into the floor. He nearly grasped at Sam's foot in his way, startled into gawking upwards at him. _Jesus… Where am I? Where **was** I? I don't understand… What the hell happened to me?_

"Rafe?" Sam whispered out loud gently, not wanting to frighten him worse. "Rafe, baby? Jesus, that you in there? You're okay, we got you, you're not gonna sink. There's a seat in there, you're not gonna fall." Hesitantly, one calloused hand reached for him, not quite touching, just simply hovering over his shoulder. "Baby? _Please_ , talk to me, let me know you're alright, I'm begging you here."

"Nate?" Elena hissed out somewhere behind Sam, the bathroom was completely obscured by the elder Drake crouched there. "Nate, get Sam. You two need to focus on making the bed. Take some time to take a breather, I got it from here."

"You _sure_?" Nathan murmured back, still reluctant in letting someone like Rafe alone with his wife. "Listen, if you need a hand—"

"I got it," Elena corrected again, no longer wishing to hear excuses. "Go. Give us some time."

Nathan's shape materialized above Sam, grabbing for his brother's upper arm to help guide him to his feet. "Come on," Nate sighed. "You heard the boss, we got a job to do."

A brief flare of resistance stoked in Sam's core, Rafe could see the possessive glare briefly reflected in those warm hazel eyes as if the elder Drake had no intentions on leaving. He simply seemed to anchor himself to the floor, shrugging forward out of Nathan's grasp. "I'm not leaving him! You saw that shit, I had never seen that in my life the whole two years we been involved—"

"Aw, Sam, _two_ _years_?" Nathan groaned out loud, unable to help himself in his shock and unfamiliarity with the situation. " **Two** **years**? And you think on telling me _this_ month is the time I needed to know?"

"That's beside the goddamn point," Sam snapped, agitated at being disrupted. "I've been with Rafe for two years, Nathan. Get the hell over it. He's never done that before. He's never gotten confused like that, called me by someone else or anything. I'm not going to leave him when he needs me."

Elena was not about to surrender. She seemed to be rummaging about in the bathroom, out of Rafe's sightline. "You're not leaving him, Sam. You're in the other room, doing what I asked. You're only a few feet away. If we need you, I will call you, okay? But right now, I think its best you take a break from this. Go on."

The stubborn and jealous beast within had subsided and calmed, Sam Drake sighed faintly in sadness and defeat. His shoulders slouched, slowly rising to his feet with a grunt. "Alright… You got it, missy. Okay, Rafe? I'll just be in the other room. You'll be okay, baby. I'm here."

 _No. No, don't leave me, Sam. _There was a weak pang of anxiety, Rafe debated reaching out and clutching for Sam's ankle before he was able to step away from the tub, but he turned and departed from the room with his younger brother leading him. The door softly closed. Elena, the woman he hardly known at all, now crouched in Sam's place. Her eyes were soft, apologetic, yet deeply understanding. Despite the fact she nearly became a widow on multiple occasions due to his efforts, she clearly was not holding it against him. It must have happened more than once, knowing Drake. She arranged a towel nearby, as well as soap and shampoo just within reach. And now, blankly, he could only stare up at her from his position in the tub, sitting stiffly in the seat moulded into the wall of the basin. He noticed, yet again, the bathroom was built according to his disability for access. Sam left no details overlooked.

"I'm sorry about all this," Elena mumbled gently, the first hint of embarrassment he saw in her yet. "Nate can be … stubborn. But if Sam is anything like that, I'm sure you know what that can be like."

" _Just_ go," Rafe blurted out, his voice hoarse and cracking from the sudden vomit session. "Get out. I can do this myself."

"Oh, I really don't think you could," she simply reasoned, already taking up the shampoo bottle in hand and squeezing a dollop into her palm. "If you could, you would have done it already. And Sam says it's been a few days. Just relax. Think of it as being at the hairdresser."

 _I don't go to my hairdresser naked, you ditz. Nor, is it done in my damn house in my bathroom._ The hateful remarks and jabs died on his lips when warm water poured abruptly over his head, making him growl out angrily at being blinded without warning. There was a nervous giggle, a small one, before his scalp was being massaged quite soothingly. That was enough to help him relax. He never could help it, but Rafe was a sucker for his scalp being caressed and his hair being combed through, he could nearly melt into anyone's touch. His shoulders eventually sunk under the water's surface, no longer tensed and raised to his ears. _Alright. Maybe this was not the worst idea. It never feels this good when you do it yourself._

During the thorough lathering, Elena's voice hesitantly piped up through his weary daze. "Are you really okay, Rafe? Do you remember what happened after you spoke to Sam in your bedroom?"

Frowning, Rafe felt a faint tinge of nausea through the haze of it all. He felt sick at thinking about it. His hands clutched at his dead knees underwater, squeezing hard as he dared although not feeling a suggestion of sensation to deter him. "I… I remember… being at home. Not this place, this… this isn't home. The Adler Estate. I… I used to hide under the covers as a kid…"

There was a faint ghost of a smile on Elena's lips, not leaving a single lock of hair unwashed. "I used to do that too, read under the covers past my bedtime. With my trusty flashlight, of course. To keep away the boogeymen."

"Yeah… mine never worked that way," Rafe grunted weakly. He could hardly believe he was discussing this, a washed-up reporter that latched onto his mortal enemy as his audience instead of a shrink or hell, even Sam. He never told Samuel any of this. Because he did not remember it until then. Somehow, someway, the moment that happened under the covers reverted him back to that memory housed deep in his subconscious, hidden until awoken. And now, he could not stop it, it was flooding back more strongly every time he reflected back. "The… the shadows, yeah. But… my dad was real. Jesus… How did… How did that happen? One moment… One moment, I was there under the covers in Sam's apartment. And then I was back home. I was six years old again, ferfuckssake. And… oh God. How _could_ I block **that** out?"

"You don't have to talk about it," Elena reasoned softly, touching his shoulder once before resuming her lather. "But sometimes, we might have memories we might have tried to forget. Our brains are weird like that, they make decisions for us without us even knowing. It was to protect you. But none of that matters now. It was in the past. And you know, with Sam nearby, I think you're the safest you've ever been. He's like a pit-bull in a fight when he puts his mind to it. Last month, he and Nate broke my living room table wrestling. I guess that's what siblings do. I wouldn't know."

"Me neither," Rafe grumbled out, unable to help himself in engaging in conversation with his new … the hell would he call this kind of relationship? His partner's brother's wife? Regardless, she was much a bit kinder than he imagined. It was easier for him to open up, after spending months in relative seclusion while recovering. "… I don't get it. Why would my father **do** that to me? Everything he made me believe… That whole same-sex relation as sinful or disgusting view? Why? I was… I was his son. I was a … a fucking little boy…"

Elena winced then, touching the back of his neck gently. "You can't know what goes on in a sick person's head. And that's what he was. Sick. No one should hurt anyone like that, let alone their own children. No one protected you, Rafe. But _now_ , you have more than enough of protection for one person. Sam will keep you safe. And Nate. And me. Sully, too. We're not exactly a typical, normal family. But since when is that a bad thing?"

"Because I'm not one of _you_ ," Rafe stated rather pointedly. "Not five or six months ago, I was trying to put your husband in the fucking ground. I'm sure at one point, I was ready to put Sam right in there next to him. Why the hell would any of you bother protecting me? I used to protect myself just fine."

"Key words being 'used to', right?" Elena added, blunt yet playful at once. "I guess you could still be a good shot but you're not the same as you were five months ago, Rafe. And to be honest, I'm not entirely sure why I would try to protect you if you're a threat to my family. I need to ask you. You won't be a threat to my family anymore, will you?"

A vague sense of shame settled in over Rafe as he sat submerged in warm water. The pursuit to Avery's treasure was almost maddening. He turned on his allies. He once gave his word he never betrayed his partners. But yet, the moment they proved to be inconvenient, he was quick to sever the line and tie up loose ends. He nearly had Nadine killed, his partner in the hunt. The fact was he considered murdering Samuel once, the one he believed to be the love of his life, still managed to catch him by surprise when he reflected on his past behaviour. He would _never_ hurt Sam now. As much as he loathed Nathan at one point, he could not see him hurt now neither. Some perverted part of him knew he was, in fact, family.

"… No. No, I won't. That was different back then. Don't know if you've noticed, but some shit changed since then…" Rafe mumbled, sighing aloud. Elena was beginning to rinse the suds from his hair, he was sure to keep his eyes closed this time to avoid being blinded. "… For what it's worth, I'm sorry for all that shit I pulled back there. I might have banged up the Drakes in that whole mess, but look at me. I'm… paralysed. I think that's the first time I've said it. Or actually meant it and understood it. I … done it to myself. My father was right. I could have walked away. I put myself in the damn wheelchair… Nathan was just saving his own skin, defending himself against someone hell-bent on greed."

That little admission seemed to clear the air. The awkwardness was gone, Rafe allowed himself to be shampooed, but went as far as that. He washed himself with the soap, the dip in the water revived his strength and energy to actually scrub himself. Elena did not leave the bathroom, there seemed to be an unspoken rule among the trio Rafe missed. It seemed that he was to be supervised at all times now by at least one of them. By the time Sam came back to help him out of the tub, the bed was already prepared. But Rafe decided that it was time to get up. Time to get back in the chair.

They all had dinner together that night as they done before when the newest to-be addition was announced. Rafe actually found it to be rather nice. The black cloud of his depression had lifted a few inches, enough for him to feel somewhat human again, more like he used to be. The acceptance he found among the Drakes and the odd numbers they at times accumulated not a burden or a problem, rather a blessing. He found the future was not a black pit of despair anymore. There was a light, like the possibility of happiness could be real if in a life different than what he used to know. He supposed that was not a bad thing, considering where he came from.

* * *

 _Smoke. Thick, choking smoke clouded his sight, burning his eyes and making them water. It was cool in the ship earlier, but now it was getting so hot, the fires were getting closer all around, consuming the centuries-old wood and gun powder in alarming rates. Rafe Adler was trapped. The door was closed and jammed, the only exit. The Fancy was going to become his tomb. It was almost exactly as he recalled it, except for one detail. Nathan Drake was the one standing above him with a razor-sharp rusty sword, ready to cleave open his throat in one swing if he chose. Rafe was the one lying flat on his back, staring up in utter disbelief and shock. He was bested in combat. Nathan carved him up in their spar, then slammed him into the floor in one shoulder-check that caught him off-balance. And Samuel, not ten feet away, pinned beneath the wood beam that collapsed onto him after the first explosion. He was awake now, but the strange unemotional mask his face was in. It did not look like Sam. Not his Sam. He was staring right at him, but it almost might as well been right through him._

 _"Nathan! Stop!" Rafe protested out, immediately drawing both gashed arms up to protect himself. "I yield! You won!"_

 _"Guys like you never yield," Nathan snapped out, a voice so unlike his usual snarky candor. He sounded mean, cruel, everything he normally was not. "You need to be put down, Rafe. Like a rabid dog. You'll never stop. Not until everyone is dead."_

 _The sword-point never wavered. It only seemed to encroach on more of his space, edging to his exposed neck dangerously. Rafe could feel the real start of a panic now, starting to hyperventilate in an effort to draw in more oxygen in the smoky, suffocating atmosphere. Nathan was not bothered at all. There was not a scratch on him from the fencing spar, and Rafe felt like he was cut to ribbons. Desperation clutching for his nerves, Rafe's eyes darted to Samuel, hoping the eldest could reason with his brother. But Sam was staring right at him. Unmoved. Unemotional. Cold._

 _"Samuel! Please! Tell him to stop!" Rafe pleaded shrilly, hoping to appeal to his former lover's emotions. Sam was always the sensitive one. "Sam, I'm begging you, please, I want to live!"_

 _"Do you deserve it?" Sam asked back to him. It was so distant, so robotic, Rafe knew something was seriously wrong. Sam never treated him like that. "Do you?"_

 _"Well, Rafe, you want this treasure so bad…" Nathan drawled out lazily almost, pacing at his feet. "Why don't I just give it to you?"_

 _No. No, he wouldn't. Rafe's line of vision drifted to the sack of gold dangling overhead, just above him maybe eight feet up. It looked so impossibly heavy from this angle, bulging through the rope still holding together all these damn decades. Nathan's gaze was on it, too, with a bit of a grin. A whistle of the blade being slashed at air, the woven material snapping under the edge and the weight doing the rest. There was only a split second before it came crashing down on top of him. So dark. So heavy. He could not rake a breath in. He could not breathe, his chest was being compressed too hard. Pain. So much fucking pain, he thought he could die. And if that were not awful enough, he felt wet now. Blood. And water. Water was flooding into the treasure hold, engulfing him in seconds. He never had time to suck in a quick tug of air before he was submerged. Oh God. Drowning. Suffocating. Any time he was lucky to inhale, water seared into his lungs, into his airways. Dying. And Sam is gone now. He paddled on out with his brother, leaving him for the worst fate. Alone._

Sitting bolt upright, Rafe heaved in a noisy intake of oxygen, soaked to the skin and shivering. He was trapped. He was wrapped up in something wet, something almost slimy, it was freaking him out. He struggled, instinctively fighting and writhing with no real indication of knowing what to do. He was trying to kick, but his legs lay still against the mattress, only his upper body responding as he thrashed about in damp barriers. "FUCK! GET **OFF**!"

" _Jesus_ , Rafe, the hell is the matter with you," Sam grumbled out sleepily beside him, a calloused warm hand reaching out and touching at Rafe's shoulder but the younger man shrugged it off with a confused snarl. "Rafe, dammit… you stole all the blankets **again** , settle down a minute."

A snap of the night-lamp above their bed, mounted above the headboard on the wall for easy reach and access. Rafe was blinded immediately, hands covering his squinting eyes, finding himself not on The Fancy but in an apartment bedroom that was oddly familiar by now. Still panting for breath, Rafe dared a glance down at himself. No gold, no water. No blood. No fresh wounds. Just old scars and soggy sheets cocooning him in an annoying tangle. Rolling his head to meet Sam's eyes, he felt a bit embarrassed to see his disgruntled partner. _Great. He'll bitch about this for two days._

Sam was laying on his stomach, a habit of his when Rafe stole the blankets in the middle of the night and he felt a bit cold, both arms stuffed under the pillows. His head was raised to squint back at him, but clearly not happy about the situation with the grumpy scowl Rafe was getting. Sam did not like being abruptly awoken in the middle of the night, then again, who did? But seeing Rafe's lack of composure, the hard expression lessened. He slept in his boxers, Rafe preferred long pyjamas but they often ended up on the floor before they fell asleep due to Sam's sexual appetite. Nothing wrong with that. He would just steal the blankets if he got cold.

"You alright, babe?" Sam asked hesitantly, noticing how Rafe struggled for breath and was drenched as if he took a dip in the pool. "Look like you seen a ghost."

 _Well. Not quite. Just reliving some life-long trauma, you know._ Rafe could not help but laugh nervously, a weak chuckle as he untangled himself from the sheets and tossed them off, repulsed by the dampness. "A ghost of the past. The Fancy."

Sam winced. They rarely talked about what happened then, there was no point reopening old wounds neither wished to pry into. But he reached forward and clutched for Rafe's hand, which Rafe accepted it. Having the real Sam with him was a deep relief, holding onto him made it more soothing. "I'm sorry, babe," Sam whispered out. "Really. I wish there was a do-over. I'd never get on, you'd be okay… Or maybe I'd never give Nathan the knife. He cut the rope and you… I should have yelled out. I should have tried to talk you out of it."

As much as Rafe felt pleased to hear that, there was also a shame. The nightmare was just a deluded echo. But it made a point. Rafe could not stop. He was afraid that if Sam did yell out, it would have only done the opposite effect. He was in a completely radically new mind-set on The Fancy. The gold, the very proximity of it after a lifetime of searching, it held a strange power over him. It made him do what he would not have done normally. It made him want to see Sam dead, alongside his brother. It made him betray Nadine, the only one that had his back in all this. It disgusted him to think what he very much could have done. He had the potential alright. He needed a nudge, and there were plenty.

Shoving the hideous thoughts down, Rafe found himself suddenly lurching up to sit up again. Sam frowned, immediately perplexed, but he relaxed when Rafe only sorted out the bedding to pull the blankets other than the wet sheet back over them both. When done, Rafe snuggled in tight against his side, triggering Sam to roll onto his side and hug his lover close to his chest. Pressing his face into Sam's neck and shoulder, Rafe sighed aloud. "… I'm the sorry one, you idiot. It was all my doing. I should have listened. Should have stopped, calmed down and helped you get out and everything would be different… I ruined myself, Sam. I can't blame you Drakes for it anymore. It was the perfect opportunity to fuck it up, which I done wonderfully. I betrayed everyone. I tried to kill you, your brother, even his damn wife at one point I think. If Nadine didn't have the decency none of us seemed to have at the time, I wouldn't be here. She might've been the only one thinking straight in the whole damn mess."

"Yeah… Her and Nathan," Sam sighed back. He was exhausted, but he was willing to listen. Rafe was grateful for that. "He done some screw-ups, hell we all screwed up good. Nathan lied to his wife. I lied to him. I betrayed you. But in the end, Nathan wanted to bail out. He was ready to leave without finding The Fancy. I … I couldn't let it go. I was too fuckin' close. Prison makes you hungry for that, your dreams. He risked everything to go back and get me. And if he didn't, hard to say what might've went down then. You might've killed me. Or the boat could have blew, we all would be dead."

"So we're both stubborn assholes," Rafe murmured back, drowsy himself despite the vivid nightmare moments before. Sam's embrace made everything better. "Now I know why we clicked. The mystery solved."

"I love you, baby," Sam sleepily mumbled at last, his nightly routine before drifting off.

Rafe could never find himself to say the words out loud most nights. Part of him wondered if he truly felt the same. The nightmare left a bitter taste in his mouth. The reality of Sam leaving him aboard The Fancy, consciously at the time, was still raw.


End file.
